An Experience

After waiting three hours for a patient to come out of a surgery that should have taken forty-five minutes, the nurses began to worry. Finally, the patient emerged.

         “I need you to check this woman’s blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature regularly,” said the nurse frantically. She then thrust a decrepit blood pressure monitor into my trembling hands.  I followed directions until I heard a painful whimpering coming from the corner of the room. I glanced over and saw a young man about my age crying, with his hands covering his face. I turned to check the patient’s blood pressure again; while waiting for the half-broken machine to cooperate, I snuck a glance at the young man. This time, however, I was shocked. I had failed to notice a giant tumor on the far side of the boy’s face. I was instantly stunned. I couldn’t move for what felt like hours, but what was really only a few minutes.

     Thankfully, the beeping of the monitor brought me out of my trance. I then realized the woman’s blood pressure had dropped to 46/25. Bordering hysteria, I scrambled out in to the hallway in order to find the head nurse. Instantly, I was overcome with the smell of heat and disease. The Haitian people admired my scrubs with looks of respect I didn’t deserve. As I found “Momma Sheryl,” and explained to her what had happened, we hurried back up the stairs while mumbling, “Bon swa,” to the families of the patients. We burst into the room, and as I glanced around I saw several doctors, translators, and nurses huddled around a bed containing the young man with the tumor.

     I dashed to the other side of the room to help raise the woman’s blood pressure. After adding sugars and nourishing minerals to the IV, we prayed and wept over the lady. Slowly, her blood pressure and heart rate steadily increased until she was no longer on death’s door. Next, her husband rushed through the door; I’ll never forget the look of gratitude in his eyes as he whispered “Merci, merci,” with tears rolling down his face. As I turned my attention toward the young man, I slowly came to realize that our mission team could do nothing for this boy. His condition was past hope.

      I sadly left the medical clinic and walked down the dusty road that led back to Institution Univers. I smiled and danced with all the little children, trying to give them some reason to hope things will change. I smiled at the street vendors haggling prices in order to feed their families, the shoeless children in tattered clothing playing soccer in the street, and the old women carrying buckets of water on their heads. Those two patients at Univers Medical Clinic taught me that in order to change the world, one must change individual lives first.