Every Dark Night Ends with Sunrise..

This morning I woke up at 4am. I picked Emilio up out of his crib. Made a bottle. Fed him. And rocked him to sleep.

At 4am, I cried.

I sat on the edge of my bed wondering when this Chikungunya epidemic is going to end. I cried as I watched Tyson sleeping thinking back to the first time I held his three week old body in my arms. How I instantly fell in love with him. How much he has grown. I cried because I am terribly worried about Shellson and what chronic illness he is suffering from. I cried because I was faced with a security issue Friday night that shook me to my core. I cried because I wish my best friend Maeve was here with me to make me laugh or to cry with me like she always did. Haiti isn't the same without her. I cried because I am constantly surrounded by suffering,poverty, and disease and I find that I am forcing myself to turn my head and to look away because I know I cannot help everyone. The faces I see, the cries I hear, they stay vivid in my mind.

I went back to sleep for a few hours. Woke up to Tyson pinching me saying "Mama get up", he wanted juice. This is when the chaos begins.

I opened my bedroom door and all of my other little ones came running in.

Lillian and Lunda grabbed me by the hand and Lilly says (as she does every day) "mama mwen ale Kanada" AKA "Mom I'm going to Canada". I ask her with who and how she is going to get there and she responds "With Lunda and you.. We can take a Moto". Gave me a good chuckle. How I wish it was that easy.

We ate breakfast. Took our bucket showers. Got dressed. Changed diapers.

Sabrina came running with tears in her eyes saying Lunda pushed her. Lunda screams and throws a fit as I put her on time out.

I quickly grabbed a banana, ran out the front door with four crying toddlers yanking on my shirt because they don't want me to leave, and headed out on a moto to Hospital Espoir to pick up Shellson.

We drive down our unpaved bumpy road and the neighbours all wave and greet me. I pass a goat eating garbage and a small child blowing up a condom- he's not wearing pants or shoes. This is normal.

I head out onto the main road and pass flying cars and the police station. The police stop and harass me. I give them a fake phone number, and I am on my way again.

When I arrive at the Hospital I argue with the moto driver about the amount I have to pay him. My hair is everywhere and I have a fine layer of dust/dirt over my skin that is sticking to my sweat.

Shellson is covered in sweat. He has a leaking diarrhea diaper. I am taking him home today. He will be continuing his medication at home with regular check ups as I try to get him admitted into another hospital. His hospital bill is $760 US. I am unable to pay it today so I leave my passport at the hospital so I can come back to pay it when we have the funds to do so. Although his fever has stopped, his arm inflammation has not, nor has his pain.

On my way home with Shellson on my lap, I pass a woman's body on the street. She appears to be dead, I think she has been hit by a car.. who knows.. People are just walking by. No one is attempting to help. I can't help. I have to keep driving because if I touch that body, I become responsible for her death and or disposal of the body.

I head to Tabbare to MSC plus to buy a few things for the house, including a new battery for the generator. While I am there I receive a text from Howard saying a bed has opened up in peds at Bernard Mevs Hospital. I have to get there ASAP. I call a taptap to meet me at the house, call Jenny to get Shellson's bag packed. I jump on my moto and head home as fast as I can.

The care we are receiving at Bernard Mevs is exceptional. He has been admitted and we are waiting for an orthopaedic to come and see him. As I am sitting in triage a little boy with big puffy eyes and a swollen face sits across and stares at me. He is with his Aunt (a big lady) and a woman from his church. The doctors examine the boy and then escort the women from the room. I figured he must be having an allergic reaction to something. He sat there on his own for awhile so I asked the Doctor what is happening. His aunt had beat him, the lady from the church went to visit and noticed his face all swollen so she insisted they go to the hospital. The police came and arrested the aunt. The little boy has two fractured eye sockets, his brain is bleeding, his skull is fractured, and he has lacerations on his arms and back. He didn't cry the whole time he sat there. He spoke in a sweet quiet voice. I cried for him.

I went home late last night after spending all day at the hospital. Chikungunya started setting in again leaving me barely able to walk. I thought Malaria was bad.. but at least that only lasted a brief period of time. I feel as if this virus is just never ending and it sets in at the most unexpected times. I am tired. My mind needs a rest. My body needs a rest.

Writing has always been my "venting" technique, however lately I find it a struggle to even do that or to even begin to think about what I want to say. Some days are too hard to write about.

If you want to keep your sanity as a humanitarian in this country, you have to find your own personal outlet. For some, that may mean hiding under the covers and exhausting an entire T.V. show series in one afternoon (I don't have a TV and my room is way too hot for covers). For others, alcohol becomes an enjoyable vice, and spending free time in a plastered haze in the nice beach resorts (which I don't have the money to do). So for me, writing and music have ultimately become the channel with which I am able to release the built up tension and emotions. And right now my guitar is sitting in my nice air conditioned home back in Canada. I am missing it more than anything.

This week has been tough. Too tough to even fully vent about right now. My mind is scrambled. There are so many things we need here but the funds just never seem to be enough. Everyone working here in Haiti faces this same struggle. There is so much good you wish to do, but money really limits that.

This is a hard place.

It has a way of exposing things. Most people would need to take a Xanax to even drive down the streets here.
One of the biggest struggles with working and living in Haiti is not becoming permanently bitter and angry. The simplest tasks such as driving, buying groceries, or bringing your child to the hospital will test every ounce of your patience. The lack of change, lack of progress, lack of truth, lack of trust, lack of security, lack of convenience, lack of compliance, lack of integrity, lack of healthcare, lack of justice, lack of sleep ... It all tries and tests.

"Every dark night ends with sunshine".. right ?