Mothers

We go to the hospital again. I am already dazed and jaded by our last visit. We go to get the stitches cleaned. I wait outside the tent, not sure why I even came. I am the last person to treat people. However I have become the house nurse. I have given away many bandages. I wish I brought toy story or Disney themed ones. Even being hurt has its perks where I’m from. Everyone comes to me with cuts and needs bandages. one of the boys comes to me, I do not want to just neglect him. I clean their wounds. He smiles, his smile is from heaven. I always try to capture it on camera, I’m unsuccessful.

No more busted faces after F. We are in the back by the OR. G, one of the staff brings F and I. I see a lady, she has just sit on the bed. She starts screaming. She seems my age. Her hand is beyond swollen. The puncture a hole under her middle finger which started the swelling. The clean it, they push out the swelling. Blood leaks into a bucket below. She continues to scream. Her screaming turns to yelling. Her hands seems to get slowly smaller. She throws it up in the air every now and then waiting five seconds in between cleaning. Her braids are short, one inch for her scalp. She wears sandals. She is alone. I ask where her family is. She screams mamma. They continue to drain the swelling. It gets worse. I’m disturbed. I want to hold her other hand. The male nurse does form time to time. She is strong. She does not move her hand too far away from the nurse. She lets him drip out her pain. I’m sure her mother would be good for her. She continues to scream her name. I wonder why she is alone. They say she is here from the mountains. I ask about her mother. Her mother is dead.

I will never come to the hospital again. It is a community hospital run by doctors without borders. I have never seen babies in Haiti before, nobody brings them out. At the hospital I see woman with tiny babies all wrapped up. The line for seeing a doctor is at least 100 people. I wonder if their babies are dying. Many babies die here. The next time they take F to the hospital they say there was a lady who fell off her roof onto someone else’s and landed in glass. A piece of her arm tore off, she brought it in with her. I wonder what happens to the lady with the swollen hand as she leaves, she is still crying. G buys her a beer. She has come from the mountains. Her arm is bandaged. They pushed all the swelling out from her arm down to her hand. She holds it high about her head. The bandage turns red with blood. She leaves. I wonder how she will work to get food in such pain. Haiti has become all about wondering.