I’m listening to a song this morning after 3 hours of sleep
that says “All this pain, I wonder if I’ll ever find my way... but you make beautiful things out of
the dust.” It’s hard to swallow
this this morning. I wonder how that
can be? Last night was a scene
from a nightmare; in your face with ugliness and pain; it was hard to even
imagine a moment of beauty right now.
The bat in our kitchen again… the mouse… the tarantula taking up the
whole trail on the way back from the hospital… then getting the call from Joanne later in the night – she
needs help with a family of kids who all ate food that was poisoned.
Leah and I ran down to the hospital. Walking down the dark trail. 10:30pm. I’m filled with a little tension. You never know… it could be something simple or a scene from
a horror movie. You just never
know. But when we entered the room
I quickly found it was the latter.
Joanne was working on an older girl, maybe 16, who was completely
out. IV going. Another boy, appeared maybe 6 or 7,
completely out and seizing on the bed, his breathing labored with lungs already thick with
aspiration There were four
other wide-eyed kids on the last bed.
Everyone was covered in vomit and dust and dirt. I followed Joanne’s lead, for which I
am thankful – I’m a little rusty on skills and urgency situations. Joanne got IVs going on all the kids to
start flushing out their systems. I
circulated to assess as much as I could amidst the mess of people standing
everywhere, the darkly lit room, and with not knowing where things were. I tried to keep my eyes on all the kids, continually assessing, and on all the their IVs
but stayed mostly with the boy who was severe. He kept seizing over and over, maybe every 5 to 10
minutes. The room was dark with
our headlights scurrying around.
Then we hear a thump and people responding. The dad of the children fell from the crowd outside the door. He dropped and started seizing
too. A little later one of the previous wide-eyed
kids on the bed who we thought was sleeping started to seize too, leaving us an uneasy feeling,
like what is going on and who is next??
All kids. Two on the brink
– making us nervous that they are on their way out. Why?
What?! How can this
happen?? The boy, with lungs full of
fluid from aspiration, his IV blew and Joanne tried so many times to get
another going but had no luck. On
and off he would seize. Leah just
holding him to protect his body, staring him in the face as he grimaced with
the seizures. Blood tinged phlegm
coming out his mouth and nose, his body covered in vomit and urine.
Later Joanne found a simple airway to keep in his mouth to
optimize his breathing and gave the diazepam to stop the seizures. Several times I was sure he would die
right in front of us. His heart
rate slowed and breathing became so labored and slow as the fluid rattled in
his lungs; something I've seen more times here than anyone should. But then he would
surprise us all by speeding up as if he was fighting with everything he had
even though he was not responsive at all.
Things started to quiet as the urgency was passing and the
seizures stopped with the diazepam.
The older girl was coming to; awake but wrenching in pain as she
continued to vomit. Even the boy
was started to gain some life as he started moaning and tossing in pain in the
bed. It looked like he would make
it if he would be able to fight and beat the infection brewing in his lungs
over the next few days. "Nou tout
sezi!" (we are all shocked). We
cleaned up and let the family take over for watching them for the night and trudged
up trail back to our house. 2:30
am. What just happened? Even all the Haitians are shocked by
this occurrence.
Of course there would be another tarantula in the trail and
a scorpion in our room this night.
Sometimes it’s hard to see the beautiful things – but I’m hearing news
that all the kids are ok this morning.
Even the little boy was awake and talking. Crazy. It’s a
crazy world we live in that leaves me a little speechless but so full of
questions.
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