Relapse

It has been approximately 204 days since I left Haiti earlier this year.  I wrote of Haiti-itis previously, but I didn’t anticipate myself going through any withdrawal in the near future.  I was burnt out.  The physical and emotional toll of the last three weeks got to me and I wasn’t sure when I would muster up the energy to return.  Bedica, CHI’s little angel, made it to the U.S.  What more did I need for closure at this point?  I had pages of pages and data to analyze and, like I mentioned, I was burnt out.  Dr. Chris asked me to help lead a team to the area where I had spent my weeks in, to the mountain clinic that I found and contacted, to reconnect with the people whom I had come to know.  I declined.  I wasn’t ready.  And there hasn’t been a day since that I don’t regret not going with that team.  Bedica passed away three days after the left and I have been dealing with guilt and emptiness since.  At this point I never wanted to go back.

I certainly went through some dark moments after I received the news.  I penned a blog post that forced an immediate phone call from my parents who urged me to take it down.  I distracted myself with studying for my Step exam.  Interests were no longer interesting.  Fun was no longer fun.  But then I got back into medicine and my world slowly started coming back together.  Tough decisions were about to be made regarding my future so I had to have a clear head.  As I applied to residency I leaned on my interest in international health and my Haiti experience for my applications, but I still had no desire to go back.  However, that’s exactly what I started planning with Rachel Bender as she looked for an international experience to sneak in after SICU and before interviews.

Before I could second-guess myself flights were booked and projects were designed, and redesigned, and redesigned…  As the date got closer though I couldn’t help but think about running away - canceling my flight and staying true to my resolve not to return.  It sucks.  I’m not ready for it.  For someone like me who absolutely loathes emotions, especially crappy ones, why would I voluntarily subject myself to returning to Arcahaie?  I don’t know.  But I’m here.

The ride from Port au Prince was just as familiar as it was during my last days in the spring.  However, this time I had managed to arrange a comfortable ride in the backseat of an SUV instead of a cramped truck.  It certainly cost a lot more.  St. Medard hasn’t changed much, if at all.  The windy, gravel road up to Mission Matana appeared slightly more developed.  Maybe some houses that were mere shanties with tin-roofs were more substantial.  The landscape was definitely greener.  But familiar faces were everywhere.  Even kids that seem to number in the thousands around here had faces that I honestly thought I could place from my previous trip.  They were probably wearing the same clothes, so that helps.

After Rachel and I settled in at the mission I offered to show her around the communities a little.  It had been a while since I had been identified for being a ‘blan’.  We cut through the houses and followed the canal to the back road.  A path that was painfully familiar.  I directed us north to avoid the past and address the future.  The dam was finished, I think.  The water was flowing well and some kids were enjoying the well-fed canal system.  Standing on the top of the dam I pictured a bridge connecting the river banks.  “Doable” I say to myself.  We continue up the hill towards Top Digue, CHI’s newest community.  I take us straight to Nola’s house, one of our health agents and a certified nurse midwife.  In a word #Badass.  I knew Rachel was pumped to meet her and I honestly think that she is going to do some great things if we provide her with the assistance she needs.  She’s very bright, has natural leadership skills, and community support #TripleThreat.  Our conversation is as extensive as my creole allows.  So it lasted two minutes of which half of the time was spent in awkward silence #StoryOfMyLife.  Doesn’t matter.  She got the message to come to clinic tomorrow so we’ll call it a win.

I was ready to turn around and head back when a young girl started talking to us.  It was just the usual pleasantries at first, but then she started gesturing around her head and saying words I didn’t know (there are many words that I don’t know).  And then she motioned for us to follow her.  Okie dokie.  We continued down the path and then slipped through a gate into a small, dirt yard.  I about fell over.  Sitting on the ground, naked as the day she was born, was our little girl with hydrocephalus.  Her mother screamed, ran over to me, and gave me a great big hug.  I don’t really know why.  I bent down and picked up little Charles Norline.  She was a giggly as ever.  We stayed there for probably twenty minutes, taking family photos and, most importantly, smiling.  And while it was a reminder of the baby smile I wouldn’t be seeing this trip, the sound of her voice brought back that feeling that me being here is a positive thing.

I’m not ready to walk down the back road, but I may finally be ready to be here.