Arriving in Haiti and beginning work at the clinic

We arrived in the morning at the airport and our driver came to pick us up…he had stayed at the airport until late in the evening the night before waiting for us, so was glad that we had finally arrived safely. We had our first experience of being on the roads, scooting in and out and around the crowded streets of Port-au-Prince. Our trip was slowed by a funeral progression in the streets, with loud singing and dancing in front of and behind the casket being carried. It was a bumpy, exhilarating ride and I tried to soak it all in as I began the journey.

We dropped off our bags at Caroline and Henri’s house. They and all of their lovely children would be our hosts, companions and guides…each at different times, sometimes all at once…throughout the next two weeks. I was anxious to get to work at the clinic, since that is what we came to do and we were already late. Saturdays are a shorter day, but there was still time to see one patient, Ruth. She was the first of many patients whose sweet smile and gentleness made for an instant connection. Even though I did not know hardly any Creole, the translators helped me determine that she had some weakness and pain from a previous fracture in her leg. Being 14 years old, her main problem was that she could not run and play with her friends without hurting. So I gave her some exercises and Janet, my friend and fellow PT did some drawings for her home exercise program. I made Ruth laugh when I asked her if she was REALLY going to do the exercises. As she assured me that she would, I thought…I CAN do this (because I was worried about not being confident and not speaking the language well enough) and I that I might really be able to help the patients at the clinic.

Cynthia, a Canadian PT and seasoned volunteer at the clinic, then asked if I wanted to go with her on a home visit with a patient following stroke. Without hesitation, I joined her in the car with the patient’s son and their driver. I was slightly unnerved and concerned by the sight of the driver blessing himself before starting the trip, as well as by him making certain all the doors were locked in the backseat where Cynthia and I were sitting. But, of course, we made it safely, as I did many more times during by two weeks, as Alix became my patient. Before I volunteered, I was worried that I might not be able to help as much as a PT with more experience with patients with amputations, since that seemed to be the injury I heard most about happening after the earthquake. In the United States, I treat mostly patients with neurological problems and was surprised when Donna told me the clinic was seeing a lot of patients following stroke.

In Alix’s home, the porch rail became the parallel bar, the length of the porch became the gym and his very low bed became the mat table for exercises. Although he spoke Creole, French and English, his dysarthria and expressive aphasia led me to use more tactile and visual instructions than words, making spoken language less necessary for treatment. His son, Alex and friend Sonya were exceedingly helpful with physical and communication assistance. And when Sonya turned up the music a bit on the stereo one day, I danced a bit and shared a smile and a laugh, and later hugs. As my friend Janet noticed within hours of being in Haiti, smiles, laughs and hugs have no language barrier.