There was a sudden explosion of splintering glass behind me, and even before I turned around, I knew that something catastrophic had happened.
Vivianne, a much loved GLA employee who has lived here since she was a teenager, was on her hands and knees, bleeding heavily. There was broken glass all over the floor, and razor sharp shards still hanging from the sliding door that separates the computer room from the waiting area.
The scene seemed to play out in slow motion. As I advanced towards Vivianne, who was too stunned to to notice the shards above her head, she got up onto her feet. For some reason, she was (mercifully) unable to stand upright. She remained bent over at the waist, as though frozen. I reached her and gently guided out of the doorway. Out of harms way, she was immediately able to stand up straight.
Vivianne was badly hurt. She sustained three deep, jagged lacerations to her face, and another just millimetres the inner corner of her eye. She had several other lesions on her wrist, legs and foot. She had pierced 3 veins, and, one shard had struck a few inches from her carotid artery.
Steeve, the Bickel's 14 year old son, was also injured. Fractions of a second before Vivianne collided with the glass, he has seen what was about to happen. He instinctively reached forward, but of course could not pull her back. his head was sliced by a shard of glass in the doorway. I shuddered hearing that. Had the remaining glass come down on Vivianne and Steeve at that point, it would have sliced them like a guillotine.
It took a surgeon almost 3 hours to close their wounds. Ten stiches for Steeve, and dozens for Vivianne.
It was 3am in the morning before, cleaned up, dressings applied and medications given, Steeve and Vivianne were in their beds. Beyond exhaused, I posted a Staus update on Facebook.'
'Susan Westwood is thankful for the Angels that guarded those we love last night'.
Yes, today we are all thankful beyond the word, that this horrible accident did not end in tragedy. Had one of the shards severed an artery.....Had the remaining shards been dislodged while Vivianne and Steeve were in the doorway....
Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers as they heal. Pray specifically that Vivianne face will not be badly scarred, and that the sutures that were used to close the wound on her foot will hold - they are under a lot of stress because of the width of the wound and its location. Today, she had no sensation in her right foot. We are hoping that as the inflamation subsides, the sensation will return.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Saturday, 5 December 2009
A Moment of Insight
One baby stared at the Christmas lights that had been stung up the stairwell in amazement. Then, utterly transfixed, he reached up.
Our Christmas preparations are well underway at GLA, Yesterday, we decorated the main house, where the nurseries for children under the age of two are located.
Baby A is 11 months old and he is celebrating his first Christmas. He is seeing the tinsel, all of these pretty decorations and the lights for the first time. As I watched his astonished expression, I experienced the epiphany; Jesus, light of the world. Conceived by divine love. Pure, holy and self-sacrificing. A tiny baby, born in a stable over 2000 years ago. Such an inauspicious beginning. As I watched the little ones gazing at the twinkling lights, I thought to myself, had it not been for the star of Bethlehem, even the wise men might not have known. And we should all stand in awestruck wonder, just like A.
Vivianne and I were putting the finishing touches to the Christmas tree on the second floor, just as the babies were waking from the afternoon naps. It is a very special tree, decorated not with baubles but with baby bibs, rattles, pacifiers, and bottles! And as our little angels traipsed out to see their tree, I was aware of a strange physical sensation -like a slow moving current moving within me and all around me. A warmth.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Opening them again, everything seemed to be just as it had before. Crawling and toddling, wiping sleep from their eyes, our little angels came, and stood, and stared. One baby, who has just turned two and is very sick clapped his hands together and exclaimed 'Bravo!' So delighted and so sincere in his praise!
Yes, the pharmacy cupboards to my left, the cold tiled floor under my feet, babies all around me. Everything was just as it been, but I was different. All of a sudden, everything was so much more precious. There was so much more love in me than there had been a moment ago, for Jesus and for these little ones, and, so much hope for their futures.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
What a difference a week makes!
For the first few days after he arrived, our new boy didn't have the energy to do anything but eat and sleep.
Pulling faces at us!
The week following admission is a time to stabalize severely malnourished children; we keep them warm and observe them carefully. They are treated for dehydration and any infections that they have, and, we introduce feeds. Children are offered small amounts of milk formula every 2-3 hours. More often than not, they are past the point of feeling hungry. They tend to have poor appetites and they are unable to tolerate anything but small amounts of food or liquid.
Yet from the day he arrived, this boy has defied all of our expectations. A week after he arrived at GLA, he has gained 2.5 lb.
Pulling faces at us!
He has enough energy to play, to crawl around the NICU, pull himself into a standing position, and HE can even walk for short distances, holding the hands of his nurses and nannies.
We would have expected a child of his age to be sad and withdrawn on entering the orphanage: this boy is neither. He smiles and giggles. His eyes are full of hope. And not only is he ready and willing to accept affection, but he reciprocates it.....
We got our first smile from him on Thursday. Friday was the day for our first giggle. On Saturday there was a kiss, a hug, and an invitation to play ball.
As I experienced this miracle, I found myself wondering what our new little man was thinking. If his heart could speak, what would it say?
I believe his heart would say, 'I am whole. For I am loved and I love.'
"We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another." (Luciano de Crescenzo).
Click here to make a donation to God's Littlest Angels
Sunday, 29 November 2009
In Gratitude....
On the 26th of November, we celebrated American Thanksgiving here at GLA. Many of the visitors asked whether we celebrate this holiday in Scotland. Of course, we do not; Thanksgiving pays tribute to the Native Americans who helped the pilgrims survive their first winter in a new and strange land. I do not share in that heritage, yet I have been very much in the spirit of the season this week.
His mother is 17 years old and pregnant. She has lived on the streets for several years, and is in a difficult place today. She is very sick, she has nothing and no-one in her life but this little boy, and, knowing that she cannot provide for him, she is now faced with a difficult decission; should she leave him here, just long enough to revover from his malnutrition, or must she give him up?
I am thankful, of course, for the abundance of rich and delicious food we enjoyed on Thanksgiving day. Turkey, delicately seasoned and cooked to perfection, fluffy mashed potatoes, green bean caserole, cranberry sauce, and pumkin pie. Yum! And at the end of the day, enough lefteovers to feed everyone all over again on Saturday. And an entire uncarved bird, still sitting in the fridge at the main house today!
Yes, we are trully blessed, and the poignancy of this blessing is all the more apparent, because the abundance comes immediately after the arrival of a new baby. Aged around 18 months old and severely malnourished, he weighed all of 14lb 1oz the day he arrived.
This frail baby is ravenously hungry, devours almost everything we give him, and then looks for more. The wonderful thing about this is that he will, in all likelhood, recover from his malnutrition very quickly. He is gaining weight all ready and the change in him is visible. Less loose skin, and, the hint of a double chin. But oh, how I wish he had never known the agony that starvation brings.
By the time this photograph was taken, just 3
days after he arrived, this tiny boy had all ready
gained 10 ounces.
His mother is 17 years old and pregnant. She has lived on the streets for several years, and is in a difficult place today. She is very sick, she has nothing and no-one in her life but this little boy, and, knowing that she cannot provide for him, she is now faced with a difficult decission; should she leave him here, just long enough to revover from his malnutrition, or must she give him up?
How glad I am that I have always had a home, parents who loved me; a place where I belonged. I never had to wonder where my next meal would come from, or if it would come at all. I had everything I needed, and so I did not have to do degrading things to survive.
This baby is all his mother has. If she decides to keep him, I cannot condemn her. If she gives him up, my heart will ache for her and I will be in awe of her sacrifice.
'This is the child for which I was praying, and Yahweh has granted
me what I asked of him. Now I make him
over to Yahweh for the whole of his life.' (1 Samuel; 26-27).
I don't know that I have Hannah's kind of faith. Please join me in prayer for our new boy, and his mother. Pray that God would touch both their lives, and give thanks that GLA is here, and that tight though our finances are, we were able to say yes when we got a call about a toddler boy who desperately needed us. It is thanks to the generosity of friends and strangers, that GLA can continue it's ministry. I am so grateful for their gifts.
If you feel led to give, click here.
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Memories of the power outage
Two weeks ago, we lost power at the main house. The second and third floors were affected, meaning no lights, no refrigerators and no electrical appliances in the nurseries.
By the grace of God, we had no sick babies at that time; no-one needing oxygen or an incubator, no real crisis. Dixie's teenage sons were real troopers. On their own initiative, they strung extension cords upstairs for us.Thanks to their hard work, we were able to light the nurseries for the smallest babies with desk lamps and we had a source of power to drive our nebulizer machine.
I will remember that as the week that the night nannies and I played Florence Nightingale, doing our evening rounds in the big nursery by torchlight. A few of our little ones are scared of the dark but they all giggled and oohed aahed as I made light patterns on the ceiling for them. The memories are fond, and untainted by worry or anxiety.
I will also remember suturing my first knife-wound by the light of a lamp, that week. A neighbourhood boy came for help after he got into a disagreement with his 12 year old sister. His poor Grand-mother sat with her hands covering her face the whole time I was cleaning and anaesthetising and suturing.
A few days later, when he came back for a check-up, I asked him how he and his sister were getting along. His family at home had beaten her, he told me. Did he think she deserved that? Did it make him glad. No! He shook his head back back and forth rapidly, as though trying to shake of the memory. Why not? Because she is his sister, that's why not. It was touching to hear that.
Over the past few months, we have only admitted children whose cases have been critical. It is taking up to 2 years to process adoptions and with donations down and space at a premium, the staff here have a responsibility to guard the well-fare of the little ones that are all ready with us; to ensure that we do not have to compromise on the quality of care they receive.
This gorge
ous baby boy (don't be fooled by the peach tones!) came just before the power outage,
at a little over a week old, and weighing 5lb 13oz. His Mother had died shortly after he was born. He was dehydrated, jaundiced and showing signs of weight loss. His family could not afford to buy infant formula and so he had received only water since he was born.
Baby N's case was therefore critical and he was admitted right away. A few days after he arrived he developed a cold and began having diarrhoea and vomiting. The NICU nannies and our head Haitian nurse were very clear about what they wanted to do for this little one.
The previous week, we were blessed to have a nursing mother come to visit her adoptive son, here at the baby house. The lady's birth son had not travelled to Haiti with her and so she was expressing milk, so that she could maintain her supply during her trip. She donated the expressed milk to us, to be frozen and used to help any fragile baby we thought could benefit from it.
The Haitian staff wanted me to thaw some of this milk for Baby N. This is quite remarkable because Haitians are not fans of giving a mother's milk to an infant that is not her own. The ladies here, though, have seen a great many premature infants thrive on breast milk, while others have struggled to tolerate formula. They had seen that Breast milk was easier to digest, and they were very open to hearing about the immune boosters in 'Mummy milk.'
After just two days of being fed breast milk, Baby N was no longer showing signs of illness and he was gaining weight. What a precious gift this Mother has given to this sick, orphaned baby! We really are so grateful to her.
By the grace of God, we had no sick babies at that time; no-one needing oxygen or an incubator, no real crisis. Dixie's teenage sons were real troopers. On their own initiative, they strung extension cords upstairs for us.Thanks to their hard work, we were able to light the nurseries for the smallest babies with desk lamps and we had a source of power to drive our nebulizer machine.
I will remember that as the week that the night nannies and I played Florence Nightingale, doing our evening rounds in the big nursery by torchlight. A few of our little ones are scared of the dark but they all giggled and oohed aahed as I made light patterns on the ceiling for them. The memories are fond, and untainted by worry or anxiety.
I will also remember suturing my first knife-wound by the light of a lamp, that week. A neighbourhood boy came for help after he got into a disagreement with his 12 year old sister. His poor Grand-mother sat with her hands covering her face the whole time I was cleaning and anaesthetising and suturing.
A few days later, when he came back for a check-up, I asked him how he and his sister were getting along. His family at home had beaten her, he told me. Did he think she deserved that? Did it make him glad. No! He shook his head back back and forth rapidly, as though trying to shake of the memory. Why not? Because she is his sister, that's why not. It was touching to hear that.
Over the past few months, we have only admitted children whose cases have been critical. It is taking up to 2 years to process adoptions and with donations down and space at a premium, the staff here have a responsibility to guard the well-fare of the little ones that are all ready with us; to ensure that we do not have to compromise on the quality of care they receive.
This gorge
ous baby boy (don't be fooled by the peach tones!) came just before the power outage,at a little over a week old, and weighing 5lb 13oz. His Mother had died shortly after he was born. He was dehydrated, jaundiced and showing signs of weight loss. His family could not afford to buy infant formula and so he had received only water since he was born.
Baby N's case was therefore critical and he was admitted right away. A few days after he arrived he developed a cold and began having diarrhoea and vomiting. The NICU nannies and our head Haitian nurse were very clear about what they wanted to do for this little one.
The previous week, we were blessed to have a nursing mother come to visit her adoptive son, here at the baby house. The lady's birth son had not travelled to Haiti with her and so she was expressing milk, so that she could maintain her supply during her trip. She donated the expressed milk to us, to be frozen and used to help any fragile baby we thought could benefit from it.
The Haitian staff wanted me to thaw some of this milk for Baby N. This is quite remarkable because Haitians are not fans of giving a mother's milk to an infant that is not her own. The ladies here, though, have seen a great many premature infants thrive on breast milk, while others have struggled to tolerate formula. They had seen that Breast milk was easier to digest, and they were very open to hearing about the immune boosters in 'Mummy milk.'
After just two days of being fed breast milk, Baby N was no longer showing signs of illness and he was gaining weight. What a precious gift this Mother has given to this sick, orphaned baby! We really are so grateful to her.
Saturday, 24 October 2009
Time is Marching On
The pace of life at GLA does not compare to the frenetic environment of a general Paediatric ward. Yet somehow, three weeks have passed since I last blogged, or journalled.
There have been trying times, but lets not dwell on those. Instead, let's take a look at the moments from which I have drawn my strength; those that have sustained me.
A few short days after I last posted, we were visited by Ti Mirak (our little miracle boy, Jonathon.) Jonathon came to us in May, after his Mother delivered him and his twin brother 8 weeks before her due-date. He was close to death on arrival, and stopped breathing a few days later.
Whenever we discharge a preemie, we tell their Mamas that if the little one becomes unwell during the first year of life, they may bring them back to GLA to be assessed. Jonathon's Mummy was at home in bed with a nasty cold. Jonathon had been feverish for three days and he arrived here with two Aunties and an uncle.
Jonathon was thoroughly examined. He was bright and alert, if a little bit miserable. He was feeding well and didn't have any diarrhoea or vomiting. There were no signs of infection in his chest but his throat and ears were a little bit red.I prescribed paracetamol syrup(Tylenol)and an antibiotic.
At Five and a half months, Jonathon weighs in at over 12 lb. That is quite good for a Haitian baby and it is fantastic for one that was born over 2 months premature! Mme Bernard advised the family that they could start offering Jonathon some weaning foods. His Aunties were horrified.
'No!' one exclaimed!' He isn't 6 months old yet!' We counselled his mother to breast-feed Jonathon exclusively for the first 6 months of his life so that he would have the best chance of survival. Apparently, Jonathon's family are following this advice very carefully! It was encouraging to see Jonathon thriving and so well loved and cared for!
After 11 days, Ti Fi was finally able to breath without supplemental oxygen. She health remains unstable but she continues to make great strides in her development. She is now able to roll from her front to her back and vice-versa. She can shuffle across the floor when she is sitting and she scoots backwards when she is lying on her belly. Last week, I found her underneath her crib!
Two week ago today, I was called to the waiting area to assess a preemie, who had arrived with his Daddy. Lyovens was born around 6 weeks early and we found him to be very tiny for his age (just 3lb 3oz). He is a beautiful boy. He was well wrapped up but cold . He had been born 3 days earlier and hadn't received a single drop of fluid. He had a good, strong cry and I felt hopeful, if in a cautious way that he might live. I'd had a tough week, and Lyovens arrival coincided with a bi-monthy volunteer and staff outing. I wouldn't be able to go, but it didn't matter. Suddenly, I was re-energised. It felt as though God was smiling down on me.
Many of our parents are very afraid of their premature babies, and the things that we do (medically) to sustain them. Lyoven's family however, are very laid back about it all. His Father told me that GLA previously helped Lyoven's older sister, who was also born premature. She is now 6 years old and in school!
Lyovens needed a feeding tube for the first week he was with us. I am pleased to report that he is now breast-feeding. He lost weight initially. We started him on just 5ml of milk, every two hours and gradually increased the volumes. Today, he weighs 3lb 7oz. He still needs to be in an incubator. The biggest risk factor for him is that he is so small for his age. That means he wasn't getting what he needed in the womb and is starting off at a disadvantage.
Yet if there were no difficulty in his life, there would be no scope for a miracle.
There have been trying times, but lets not dwell on those. Instead, let's take a look at the moments from which I have drawn my strength; those that have sustained me.
A few short days after I last posted, we were visited by Ti Mirak (our little miracle boy, Jonathon.) Jonathon came to us in May, after his Mother delivered him and his twin brother 8 weeks before her due-date. He was close to death on arrival, and stopped breathing a few days later.
Whenever we discharge a preemie, we tell their Mamas that if the little one becomes unwell during the first year of life, they may bring them back to GLA to be assessed. Jonathon's Mummy was at home in bed with a nasty cold. Jonathon had been feverish for three days and he arrived here with two Aunties and an uncle.
Jonathon was thoroughly examined. He was bright and alert, if a little bit miserable. He was feeding well and didn't have any diarrhoea or vomiting. There were no signs of infection in his chest but his throat and ears were a little bit red.I prescribed paracetamol syrup(Tylenol)and an antibiotic.
At Five and a half months, Jonathon weighs in at over 12 lb. That is quite good for a Haitian baby and it is fantastic for one that was born over 2 months premature! Mme Bernard advised the family that they could start offering Jonathon some weaning foods. His Aunties were horrified.
'No!' one exclaimed!' He isn't 6 months old yet!' We counselled his mother to breast-feed Jonathon exclusively for the first 6 months of his life so that he would have the best chance of survival. Apparently, Jonathon's family are following this advice very carefully! It was encouraging to see Jonathon thriving and so well loved and cared for!
After 11 days, Ti Fi was finally able to breath without supplemental oxygen. She health remains unstable but she continues to make great strides in her development. She is now able to roll from her front to her back and vice-versa. She can shuffle across the floor when she is sitting and she scoots backwards when she is lying on her belly. Last week, I found her underneath her crib!
Two week ago today, I was called to the waiting area to assess a preemie, who had arrived with his Daddy. Lyovens was born around 6 weeks early and we found him to be very tiny for his age (just 3lb 3oz). He is a beautiful boy. He was well wrapped up but cold . He had been born 3 days earlier and hadn't received a single drop of fluid. He had a good, strong cry and I felt hopeful, if in a cautious way that he might live. I'd had a tough week, and Lyovens arrival coincided with a bi-monthy volunteer and staff outing. I wouldn't be able to go, but it didn't matter. Suddenly, I was re-energised. It felt as though God was smiling down on me.
Many of our parents are very afraid of their premature babies, and the things that we do (medically) to sustain them. Lyoven's family however, are very laid back about it all. His Father told me that GLA previously helped Lyoven's older sister, who was also born premature. She is now 6 years old and in school!
Lyovens needed a feeding tube for the first week he was with us. I am pleased to report that he is now breast-feeding. He lost weight initially. We started him on just 5ml of milk, every two hours and gradually increased the volumes. Today, he weighs 3lb 7oz. He still needs to be in an incubator. The biggest risk factor for him is that he is so small for his age. That means he wasn't getting what he needed in the womb and is starting off at a disadvantage.
Yet if there were no difficulty in his life, there would be no scope for a miracle.
Monday, 5 October 2009
A Cup of Water
Monday: We are all up on the third floor balcony. 'We' being (close to)100 babies, 20 nannies, 3 nurses, and a handful of volunteers. Absolute madness! Little bodies darting everywhere. Into everything, pulling, tugging, pushing, bumping and crashing. The Haitian ladies sit in the shaded areas, oblivious to the chaos, seeming unperturbed the cacophony. But then, the atmosphere up here is only a little bit crazier than the big nursery.
1pm: It is after lunch. 'These babies need to sleep,' I declare. My Haitian colleague looks at me disbelievingly. 'These children will not sleep.'
An hour later, I am sitting amongst a sea of sleeping tots. I have single handedly managed to settle all but three of the toddling babies. Everyone is glad. Looking around, I sigh. Each tiny girl and boy has their unique quirks. Some have been rocked to sleep, others have had their backs rubbed or their bottoms patted. Some have fought nap-time. Others were out within seconds. One little man is holding his ear. Another has his hand inside his nappy. Oh Oh!
Seriously though; they are all so different and special. I have been hot, tired and irritable, but watching all these little chests rise and fall I am suddenly overcome with feelings of warmth and tenderness.
Tuesday is weigh-in day. The numbers aren't good. Overnight, we have been hit by an epidemic of diarrhoea. and vomiting. A few children are looking quite dehydrated. All are in need of pedialyte (oral rehydration solution). Some cannot keep down even sips of fluid. They need injections of anti-emetics to help with the vomiting. Amazingly no-one needs IV fluids.
Wednesday: We are still in the throws of the epidemic. We have also had an outbreak of hepatitis among the grown-up's at the orphanage. Some of the newer children have tested positive and many others have been having mysterious fevers, and symptoms of possible hepatitis infection. All of them need to have blood drawn drawn. It is a major operation. Lollipops are placed in mouths. With a few notable exceptions, there is very little crying or flailing.
Thursday: Ti Fi went back to the NICU at the end of last week. Many of the babies have colds but she has developed a high fever and we cannot get it down. She had a chest x-ray a few days ago. it showed a pneumonia. Ti Fi was started on an antibiotic last night, but she has deteriorated overnight. She needs oxygen. She is fractious and looks at me pleadingly. I pick her up. She burns in my arms. She is panting and I can feel her heart hammering under my palm. The monitor reports a heart rate of 210 per minute. I get 208!
Ti Fi is so fragile and we are concerned that her little body will tire. Our paediatrician does not think that she can keep up this level of effort for long. She is seriously ill but although I desperately wish I could take away the hacking cough and the raging fever, and although I am anxious for my Ti Fi, I have an inexplicable peace that she can overcome this.
Late morning: I am asked to go to see a premature baby. His Aunts have brought him here. I learn that he was born in Delma (close to Port-au-Prince) earlier today. It is immediately obvious that it is too late. He is is waxen and very still, but oh so, beautiful. The sorrow I feel is strangely sharp.
I have been thinking lately, that I am in danger of shutting down emotionally. Now, a still, small voice whispers in my subconcsious that I am not to harden my heart. I cannot fullfill his commission if I do that.
Friday: I am in my room, and I hear Ti Fi's oxygen machine bleeping. Stepping outside, looking up at the NICU, I see that the first floor of the Main House is in darkness. The generator has failed. There is no power to light the house or drive the oxygen concentrator.
I rush up to the NICU to find Ti Fi struggling to breathe. By the light of a cellphone, I see that she is blue. The Pulse oximeter tells us that her transcutaneous oxygen saturation is 73%. That is life threatening!
The power comes and goes. I hastily gather together a bag of emergency supplies. It has been decided that Ti Fi and I will spend the night at the toddler house (about a mile up the mountain). They are not set up to deal with very sick children, but at least they have a more reliable power source than we do.
3am: after a rough night, Ti Fi and I finally catch some sleep. The IV has become dislodged and is out and my little lady remains feverish. She has a spasmodic cough and is constantly reaching for me.
I have missed her so much since I returned her to the NICU last week. I am glad to have this chance to love her through her sickness.
I wake just after sunrise, and am rewarded by a tiny smile from Ti Fi. Sometimes, I think, it is the little things that make the greatest difference in the lives of my babies. To be touched, to be held....
Shortly after lunchtime, we are heading back to the main house. Everyone at Kay B (the toddler house) has been so gracious but I am overwhelmed by relief to be headed back to the main orphanage building, and to have some medical back-up again.
The rest of the weekend: don't ask because I don't know. I got all of two hours sleep on Friday night, and was unable to nap when I got back to my own bed the next day.
One thing I do remember: being slightly thirsty, and desperately tired, and not having water in my room or the energy to go and get some. I had been complaining to my room-mate, the night before, telling her how much I missed Scottish water. I absent-mindedly reached out my hand. I don't why, and I found a cup of water where there had been none. It was cold, clear and pure; just like the water at home. I know my God is near me!
1pm: It is after lunch. 'These babies need to sleep,' I declare. My Haitian colleague looks at me disbelievingly. 'These children will not sleep.'
An hour later, I am sitting amongst a sea of sleeping tots. I have single handedly managed to settle all but three of the toddling babies. Everyone is glad. Looking around, I sigh. Each tiny girl and boy has their unique quirks. Some have been rocked to sleep, others have had their backs rubbed or their bottoms patted. Some have fought nap-time. Others were out within seconds. One little man is holding his ear. Another has his hand inside his nappy. Oh Oh!
Seriously though; they are all so different and special. I have been hot, tired and irritable, but watching all these little chests rise and fall I am suddenly overcome with feelings of warmth and tenderness.
Tuesday is weigh-in day. The numbers aren't good. Overnight, we have been hit by an epidemic of diarrhoea. and vomiting. A few children are looking quite dehydrated. All are in need of pedialyte (oral rehydration solution). Some cannot keep down even sips of fluid. They need injections of anti-emetics to help with the vomiting. Amazingly no-one needs IV fluids.
Wednesday: We are still in the throws of the epidemic. We have also had an outbreak of hepatitis among the grown-up's at the orphanage. Some of the newer children have tested positive and many others have been having mysterious fevers, and symptoms of possible hepatitis infection. All of them need to have blood drawn drawn. It is a major operation. Lollipops are placed in mouths. With a few notable exceptions, there is very little crying or flailing.
Thursday: Ti Fi went back to the NICU at the end of last week. Many of the babies have colds but she has developed a high fever and we cannot get it down. She had a chest x-ray a few days ago. it showed a pneumonia. Ti Fi was started on an antibiotic last night, but she has deteriorated overnight. She needs oxygen. She is fractious and looks at me pleadingly. I pick her up. She burns in my arms. She is panting and I can feel her heart hammering under my palm. The monitor reports a heart rate of 210 per minute. I get 208!
Ti Fi is so fragile and we are concerned that her little body will tire. Our paediatrician does not think that she can keep up this level of effort for long. She is seriously ill but although I desperately wish I could take away the hacking cough and the raging fever, and although I am anxious for my Ti Fi, I have an inexplicable peace that she can overcome this.
Late morning: I am asked to go to see a premature baby. His Aunts have brought him here. I learn that he was born in Delma (close to Port-au-Prince) earlier today. It is immediately obvious that it is too late. He is is waxen and very still, but oh so, beautiful. The sorrow I feel is strangely sharp.
I have been thinking lately, that I am in danger of shutting down emotionally. Now, a still, small voice whispers in my subconcsious that I am not to harden my heart. I cannot fullfill his commission if I do that.
Friday: I am in my room, and I hear Ti Fi's oxygen machine bleeping. Stepping outside, looking up at the NICU, I see that the first floor of the Main House is in darkness. The generator has failed. There is no power to light the house or drive the oxygen concentrator.
I rush up to the NICU to find Ti Fi struggling to breathe. By the light of a cellphone, I see that she is blue. The Pulse oximeter tells us that her transcutaneous oxygen saturation is 73%. That is life threatening!
The power comes and goes. I hastily gather together a bag of emergency supplies. It has been decided that Ti Fi and I will spend the night at the toddler house (about a mile up the mountain). They are not set up to deal with very sick children, but at least they have a more reliable power source than we do.
3am: after a rough night, Ti Fi and I finally catch some sleep. The IV has become dislodged and is out and my little lady remains feverish. She has a spasmodic cough and is constantly reaching for me.
I have missed her so much since I returned her to the NICU last week. I am glad to have this chance to love her through her sickness.
I wake just after sunrise, and am rewarded by a tiny smile from Ti Fi. Sometimes, I think, it is the little things that make the greatest difference in the lives of my babies. To be touched, to be held....
Shortly after lunchtime, we are heading back to the main house. Everyone at Kay B (the toddler house) has been so gracious but I am overwhelmed by relief to be headed back to the main orphanage building, and to have some medical back-up again.
The rest of the weekend: don't ask because I don't know. I got all of two hours sleep on Friday night, and was unable to nap when I got back to my own bed the next day.
One thing I do remember: being slightly thirsty, and desperately tired, and not having water in my room or the energy to go and get some. I had been complaining to my room-mate, the night before, telling her how much I missed Scottish water. I absent-mindedly reached out my hand. I don't why, and I found a cup of water where there had been none. It was cold, clear and pure; just like the water at home. I know my God is near me!
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