Today the Helping Hands team went back to the big tent city just outside the grounds of the collapsed Capitol building in Port-au-Prince. We found a suitable place on a very wide sidewalk and fashioned the most streamlined, well-placed clinic of this week. With plenty of room for a line, sign-in, evaluation and speaking with the proper medical worker, it was easier to keep everyone moving forward.
A line formed quickly and we probably could have seen more than the 100 patients we were able to minister to except that three ladies who had been cleaning up the area and were attacked and beaten. They came up initially and showed us the cuts and then they left. No one had known where they went until they returned. They said that they went to the police and had their attackers arrested prior to their return. One had a minor but painful laceration to her right ear, another had a small but profusely bleeding gash on the top of her scalp (and in the middle of her very long, wiry hair) and the last had a cut under her left eye that required several stitches. As the story unfolded, they were working cleaning the sidewalks when they were attacked by a group of punk cowards who decided that they didn’t want the area cleaned. Two of the wounds were time consuming to clean and bandage or stitch, but it seemed the people close enough to see what was happening were understanding of what was happening.
Our primary care people, Dr. K, Dr. Brenda, Angela (U.S.), Irene and Maria (both from Germany) are simply excellent. There is almost nothing that they cannot do or make a valiant attempt at getting done. Two of our team did evangelization on the sidewalk to those awaiting treatment and curious onlookers. One great blessing was that Michel, one of our interpreters, took the Evangecube and began to share the gospel himself. That is what mission trips are all about: helping the locals to become courageous in sharing the Gospel of Christ. A number of people professed faith in Christ today, perhaps as many as 40; they will be contacted by a local pastor for follow up in the days and weeks after we are gone. A big hit today also was the sidewalk entertainment of balloons, Fruit Loops to the kids, and limbo that did much to keep the small crowd from growing restless.
Today was my first time to do “wound care” which, as it sounds, is the station where cuts are washed or scrubbed, then treated with peroxide or Betadine. Sometimes Band-aids are applied and sometimes bandages with antibiotic cream. Most are minor compared to many injuries receive in the quake but all need to be clean to avoid an infection that could be deadly in this less than sterile environment.
The reason doing wound care is significant for me is that I have passed out before having blood drawn and have tended to make getting any injection an adventure of hyperventilation, heart palpitations or both. No one in my family believed for a moment that I would be able to deal with blood up close and personal. Frankly, I was none too certain myself.
I actually did take a pass on the first one: a boy of about 10 on whom a concrete block had fallen during the earthquake. He had a hole in the top of his head. Yep; a hole in the top of his head. If you’ve ever thought, “I need that like I need a hole in the head,” you are right-it isn’t needed! Dr. K handled it with cleaning and a bandage. No stitches could be given since the infection cannot be closed inside, which would have happened since the wound was so deep.
The next one was the lady who had been struck in the head during the attack. While the gash turned out to be small, it had bled through her hair, down her neck onto her shoulder, soaking her blouse bright red. Dried blood remained on her hand and nails, while her hair was soaked in spots-dried and matted in others. I had to cut much of her hair, getting close enough to her scalp to try and find the actual wound through all the mess. I felt doubly sorry for her since many Haitian women, like many American women, find some amount of identity in their hair. I wondered if she would feel shame after seeing a large shaven spot on the side of her head. Would she feel as if her glory had been turned against her?
As I got into the process, I was moved with compassion for her and her plight, so much that I never even thought about being sick, woozy or anything else. I wondered at the evil in the hearts of men than cause them to attack women who are working to restore order to a broken city, but rejoice in the Christ who loves those who are bruised, battered and beaten.
Marty
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