Days 1and2blurredtogetherforlackofsleep

So we are sitting in the plane waiting to take off. I hate to fly. I am telling Aimee that this taking off part is my least favorite part, just after the landing part and maybe tied with the actual flying part.

She looks at me and cocks her head in her bright bird way, little smile playing on her lips, and she chirps, “Okay, do this. Put one hand here.” She places one hand on her sternum. “And put one hand here.” She places her other hand on her diaphragm. “Now breathe, but feel that you are breathing from your diaphragm, not your chest.”

I do as she instructs and laugh, “Are we doing PTSD stuff?” She nods and quickly explains something about how if you aren’t breathing from your diaphragm your brain cannot process things accurately because you are not getting the oxygen exchange that you should so your CO2 levels are different and it releases stress hormones and suppresses endorphins. Ah, yes. Of course.

Well, it was something like that. She is ready. I am her convenient guinea pig. The main thrust of our visit this time to Haiti is to conduct Post Traumatic Stress Disorder workshops for the Haitians who are suffering from this lingering, unseen wounding from the earthquake.

Aimee’s exercise worked. I became airborne without bruising my neighbors arm or rocking incessantly or whimpering. I even employed it successfully several other times on the journey.

Some hours, and sticky gritty miles of terrifying, careening travel through the streets of Port au Prince and rutted roads of the outlying area, we arrived at the HAM campus soggy and weary. The day had been elongated to a surreal state. I longed only for bed and red shoes to click but the medical team was still busy unpacking supplies. They are furtively efficient, as well they should be, they will see over 100 patents a day over the next week and a half.


Finally, I secured my mosquito net with Aimee’s help. We bumbled about in the clinging, voluminous mass, caught out of our element, like hapless fish trying to shake free of a net. I am grateful for a friend who cares that I do not get malaria and who laughs at me mercilessly when I am predictably graceless. We solved the infuriating puzzle and when I was safely ensconced in my deet fragrant nest, I dropped into a desperately deep sleep. I didn’t even notice the aftershocks that stirred just about everyone else.




Thursday morning:




I was a little afraid with the medical team here that I would not find a quiet place to write but my rooftop was still waiting for me (and my cup of coffee) cinder block gritty and flanked by the looming, thick shade of mango trees.


I look down on the campus and see the women sweeping the dirt clean of mango leaves. The campus is still in a bit of disarray after the earthquake, with items from the shattered technical building clustered under drapes of blue tarp.


The technical building just completed this past year is gone. It is very disorienting and heart breaking. Such a labor of love…vanished. First compromised by the earthquake and then tidily moved away by our North American volunteers, Haitian staff and a team from Samaritan’s Purse. The foundation stands awaiting the realization of the new structure. Designs are complete and work will begin soon. The perimeter wall, which had been completely obliterated, has been reconstructed with new, earthquake proof, masonry methods. The old tin roof of the church is still held aloft by the knock-kneed poles. Today it will be filled with Haitians who are suffering from Post Traumatic Stress symptoms in the wake of the earthquake. Aimee and Mary, both mental health professionals, will speak to groups of 20-30 people throughout the day. Each group will then proceed to the clinic to see the nurses and the doctors. In the PTSD workshop, they will have opportunities to share about their experience and their recurring symptoms and they will learn that these responses are not abnormal and that there are relaxation techniques that can help to control many of the symptoms. Aimee and Mary will also have opportunities to identify extreme cases that may need ongoing interventions.

 This is how it will go while we are here: 30-minute sessions, seven times a day for seven days all told. I am anxious to see how it unfolds, hopeful to document the efficacy of this North American Team. I am already struck by the selfless, eager desire of this medical team to use their given skills to make a positive impact on lives in this community.


I hear a rustling in the dried mango leaf carpet outside our walls. A man drifts languidly in and out of the early morning shadow; he has some large fruit the size of a head, perhaps a coconut, in one hand, a machete swings gracefully at his side from the other. I am struck again, in this rural Haiti, by the soft tempo of life, words, gestures, feet – all move in the same gentle rhythm, one that picks up from and does not move against the velvet Caribbean breezes.

 I can only imagine how terrifying and abrupt the disruption of this gentle world was when the earthquake struck.