BY MARK
La Gonave is an island that sits in the middle of the
u-shaped land mass called Haiti. There
are several facilities providing wonderful services there but still the basic
needs there are greater than the supply.
For someone to come to our clinic in St Ard, Haiti from the island of La
Gonave, the individual would need to pay for passage on a small sailing vessel,
spend a few hours on the sea, disembark, walk to the road to find public
transportation, be deposited near our clinic, and walk or ride a motorcycle the
last ¼ mile to our clinic door. The
journey is long and arduous, but yet each week we have a few patients who make
the trek to seek medical attention at our small hospital.
Such was the case during the last Monday in August. Kathy and I had arrived at the clinic as we
usually do, prior to the arrival of the bulk of the staff, waiting for our
caffeine to allow us to function. As the
number of waiting patients grew, one of the employees, who arrived a bit early,
asked if I would see a patient from La Gonave because he was unsure if she
should wait for the rest of the staff to arrive. Assuring my caffeine level was adequate, I
agreed, and discovered a 34-year-old lady accompanied by two family members
from the island, sitting in a chair gasping for breath. With assistance, Marie (not her real name)
walked to a bed and was lifted onto it by myself and her accompanying male
family member. She refused to lie down
as she said that reclining “took her breath”.
The story then unfolded that a little over 3 weeks prior,
Marie had given birth to her fourth child, who suddenly appeared in the room in
the loving arms of her aunt. He was a
beautiful, perfect little boy weighing about 6 pounds with a fair amount of
hair and bright eyes. Since the birth,
however, Marie reportedly had been unable to urinate, had felt terrible and was
swollen. She was covered in sweat, had
lower back pain, had very high blood pressure and her lungs were crackling with
every breath. I asked one of our nurses
for some medicine, and she said we didn’t have any in that category. I asked for another med and she said we were
out of it also, because we couldn’t get them this month in Port au Prince. So, frustrated, I was relegated to oral medicine
(diurectics) and finally found one vial of another med that could be
helpful. We were able to get her a bit
more comfortable after a few hours, but still were not sure how well she could
make the trip to a more major hospital in Port au Prince. Marie breathlessly said over and over that
she had no money for her hospital stay, so we forwarded some cash with her,
some medicine, sheets, and a few supplies, and her family loaded her in the
back of an open pick-up truck bed and headed toward Port au Prince.
I don’t know, nor may I ever know, if Marie survives today,
which would also impact the viability of her newborn, nursing baby boy. We (our whole staff) did the best we could
but often, for us, as on the island of LaGonave, our demand is much greater
than our supply: our supply of medicine; our supply of appropriate equipment;
our supply of expertise; or our supply of finances to help her. This was a gut
check on how far we need to go. We want
to be able to care for those who need us, and daily we find we do not have
“something” that we need for someone.
It is wonderful that we serve a God who always has a supply
that is greater than our demand. He has
a surplus of hope. He has an abundance of love.
He has more support for us than we can ever imagine. I can only reach out for that endless supply
of the hope of God, and pray for the best outcome for Marie and for her
child. The outcome is beyond me, but
well within the grasp of the One who can assist each of us. We strive to improve what we do each day at
the hospital, so that when the next “Marie” comes to us, we can be better
prepared. Maybe, just maybe, the same Marie will come back to us again… for a
check-up for her baby.
John 14:14 “You may
ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it!” (now that’s hope!)
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