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HAITI NEEDS YOUR HELP!

PLEASE VISIT www.hashaiti.org TO MAKE A DONATION NOW!

Sunday, February7th 2010_____________________________________________________________

Time.
Time is the distance between being here and being there.
Time is the thirty years of my life.
Time is the space between the day my grandparents opened HAS and now.
Time is the moment a baby's departure from a mother's womb gives way to its first breath
Time is a fleeting moment, a single breath, and a life time of breathing.
It is eternal and it is momentary.
Time is an instant as much as it is a lifetime.
Time is the essence of life.
Time is passing right now.
Time is one hundred thirty heart beats a minute; twelve breaths per minute.
Time is an hour; its sixty minutes; its three thousand six hundred seconds.
How many foot steps every hour?
That is time in various measurements.
It can be measured in a million ways and quantified in a million more.
Multiply that by another million more, and that is how many ways time can be felt.
Some would say its been a long time since the Jan 12th earthquake rumbled the earth of Haiti.
Others would say its only been four weeks since it destroyed the lives of millions.
How do you measure the time since you had your leg? How do you measure the time since you saw your child for the last time? How you measure the time it will take for skin to grow over the exposed muscles in your arms? How do you measure the time since you saw your house crush your leg and killed your son? The house that you cherished. The house you built with your own hands. The place you raised and nurtured your family. The house that took all that from you when it fell. How do you measure the time a country will take to heal?
How do you measure that time laying in a bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the screams across the room as the nurse removes the dressings on other patients wounds? How do you measure the next patients barking, crying, wailing? By the scream? By the tear? By the prayer?
How do you measure the time until its your turn? Until the anticipation gives way to your own reality? How do you measure the time that it will take for the skin around your amputated leg to grow together closing the wound; Closing the chapter in your life when you walked; When you skipped?
How do you measure the time until you learn to walk again? How do you measure the time until you will never learn to walk again; Never see him again; Never hug her again; Never know where they are? How do you measure the time it takes to stop crying? How do you measure the time it takes to take your last breath? How do you measure the time you will spend watching until they take theirs?

Today I walked the halls of Hopital Albert Schweitzer with a team of orthopedic surgeons who just arrived from Atlanta. I thought of the time since I had last seen Dr. Guy. I thought of what he must have done since I had last seen him. I thought about the time he and his team will be here. One week. What will they do? What will they be able to accomplish? I saw determination in their eyes. I saw confidence. I could see the sight of blood and open skin was no stranger to them. The dozens of external fixations posted through skin into setting bones, the x-rays, the gauze, the, fear and hope in their patients souls, their trauma.... This was where they lived. This was their territory. They spent their lives honing in on their ability to see this, and know just what to do, and how to do it. They were embarking on a week of healing.

As many times as I have walked the halls of HAS, the sight of injuries is never something I have totally gotten used to. Or maybe I've gotten used to it, but it still makes me uncomfortable. In the last weeks I've seen all too much of it. Every time I see a woman's pink muscle exposed again, and cleaned again, while she winces in pain; every time I see large metal posts sticking through the flesh, clutching to healing bones, I feel it inside me. It hurts me to watch. I feel pain inside of me because I can't grasp the pain they feel inside of them.

Today I became all to conscious of my own feet. I have stood on them billions of times. I have walked so many steps, ran so many more. All moments. Millions of moments that string together, and in the cluster of them... I can't remember a single one of them. They are lost in a sea of countless seconds, minutes, years and decades. Today I felt my feet like I never felt them before. I watched as the Atlanta team of orthopedic surgeons pulled the skin together around the place where a woman's leg once was. They talked calmly about a strategy to get the skin to close around the stump. To heal. To permanently close. Her foot was not there. she could not and will not feel it ever again.

I stood there staring blankly, at this calm group of doctors, and I began to feel my feet. I wanted to hold on to that feeling and never forget it. I had never been more thankful to feel myself standing.

I looked at the face of the woman. She had gotten over it to some extent. She had morned her leg by now. She was coming to terms with it. As thankful as I was for feeling my foot at that moment, she was more, because she knew she was breathing. She was alive. She made it. Not everyone did and she was being cared for by people who knew what to do. She had been cared for over the last few weeks now. Weeks which must have felt like an eternity. Weeks where she has still not healed but has begun to. Weeks where she stared at the ceiling and waited. Waited the time it takes to get better and to accept ones new reality. A reality which was delivered in a few short seconds. A reality you share with a nation of people.

She wasn't alone. In that same room still laying in their cots were others with broken legs, broken arms broken cheeks... broken spirits. The sight of blood was becoming familiar to all of them in this room. Sounds of pain were becoming as regular as their own breath. And it is the same in the next room, and in the halls, and in the courtyards where families watch and heal together.

The sight of doctors was even more familiar. What does it feel like to be in good hands? How do you balance the fear of the unknown with the faith, that this man and this woman standing over you, know you have nothing to fear but fear its self? How do you measure the time it will take to accept that? How do you measure the time it will take you to realize that these people saved your life? They saved all these lives, and they were here for you when you needed them most. How do you measure a lifetime of gratitude?

Time.....

The time is now to help. Visit www.hashaiti.org and make a donation and join us in helping the Haitian people.

Saturday, February 6th 2010_____________________________________________________________

A young Turkish woman named Gozde Avci has been staying with us here in Deschapelles.

Yesterday we took a trip to Port au Prince, and while there, we made a stop at the Karibe Hotel. It was a strange site. This was a new hotel in Haiti many would call it the nicest one in the country. Much more like a five star resort than a hotel at all, with beautiful dining areas, a massive lobby, wifi internet, and a beautiful pool with a built in bar and waterfall. We parked in the now empty parking lot, walked by the balcony of the room I stayed in just a few months before, now cracked and falling apart and strangely empty. This was a hot spot for foreigners and wealthy locals who would come to take advantage of this slice of paradise in an impoverished country. The view from the hilltop hotel was of slums stacked on top of slums on all along the adjacent mountains, now many reduced to rubble. It was a staunch contrast. The Karibe was new though, and it was a sign to many that we were on the verge of a new Haiti. One where foreign investors might come to do business, where young couples might come to vacation, one where Haiti might know a middle class and not such a massive class divide. Now though in one foul swoop, there are cracks in that vision as there are in this once glorious hotel.

Gozde wanted to stop here as this place has something to do with why she is with us at all. You see she was planning to come to Haiti, long before the big shake, to visit a friend of hers who was working with the UNDP (as she once did) and staying here in this compound in apartments which shared the hotel grounds. It was here where he had passed away in the earthquake leaving behind a wife and one of three children. One, which he may have even saved, as his last action in life. Gozde wanted to see this place, she wanted to cry, she wanted to pray for a better place for him. To me it was a brave sight watching her march in to the closed hotel to find the very place where she lost her friend on the day hundreds of thousands of people lost theirs as well. When she came back out, it was tears which took her. She worked through her emotions feeling her loss and finding closure. One could only feel empathetic. In fact as I write this now I'm choking back tears as well it had to be hard for her and I was deeply touched.

Gozde is a friend of my Turkish cousins from my mom's side Jonas, Jem, and Ned. When she heard of the loss of her friend here in Haiti, they recommended she go to Haiti anyway. They told her of their uncle, my dad, and the work he does at Hopital Albert Schweitzer. They said she should come to visit and maybe she could help. I'm so glad she found the courage to come because I feel blessed to know her and call her my friend now too. She is no stranger to this form of tragedy and no stranger to the trials which will surely follow. She had lived through the Turkish earthquake of 1999, and has worked dozens of countries for the UNDP as an employee and consultant working on economic development strategies in countries such as Yemen, Kosovo, Pakistan, Burundi, Rwanda, and Iraq.

It was this experience that makes her presence at HAS invaluable now. Now that the immediate trauma is slowing down there is a bigger need than ever for economic strategies here. You see the crisis is over as far as surgeries, but the Haiti has always been in crisis. It's the very reason Gwen and Larry even built HAS. Here the hospital usually treats diseases of poverty. This country has been scraping by for decades, and only recently did many people see much change in that, and now in 30 seconds the entire country has been shook back twenty years.

Gozde and I have been working on strategies which fit the new vision of HAS and the UNDP. You see if you treat problems of poverty and don't treat poverty its self you are running in place. Lately HAS has launched an integrated community services program, which will be the future of HAS. It offers programs with wells and water, HTRIP (a reforestation program), and community health program, which essentially brings the Hospital a little closer to the patients.

The UNDP is offering grants to NGO's to provide short term economic stability with work for pay programs. Then on a longer term they will offer grants which will encourage long term economic stability. These grants are meant to help IDP's, one of the UN's 12 million acronyms, meaning internally displaced persons. In our 610 square mile region of the Artibonite Valley there are tens of thousands of IDP's, each with a story of loss beyond comprehension. They are putting strain on the economy and the hospital. Many plan to stay as they have lost their houses, families, friends, and jobs in the big city. Many are in shock still now nearly four weeks after.

Gozde is a slick, smart, fast talking woman who easily slips between several languages. One minute with her in the UN complex, and you can tell she knows how to play the game and how to work with the system. She found friends quickly talking about falafel and speaking in arabic. She would stop turkish military and ask in her native tongue where various departments were located. She would attend clusters asking questions in french and hearing answers in english like they were all one unified language to her. She knew all the acronyms the UNDP used in every language. We quickly discovered how HAS could participate in programs, to boost the economy, and build up the infrastructure of our region, by helping the IDP's and the families who host them in the Artibonite.

So now we write proposals and plan for a time in the near future to return to Haiti, for an extended period of time, to lead projects which will provide jobs for thousands of people, and lead our region toward economic sustainability. Projects include road improvements to the hospital dispensaries; expanded efforts of HTRIP building more terraces and planting more trees; empowering women with literacy programs; building and expanding youth programs with sports, education and arts; expanding wells and water programs; and creating subsidized vocational training programs; all while providing jobs to thousands of displaced people.

Its an exciting time here where so many people are interested in helping, but it needs more. The tragedy here is that, Haiti has always been in a constant state of crisis, the earthquake was just an insult to the long running, deep felt, injury. It was however just the jolt the rest of the world needed to take notice in Haiti, and join us in supporting the Haitian people my grandparents loved, my parents love, and I grew up loving so much. I hope that generations to follow will continue to, and more people like Gozde will find their way here and lend a hand, like she has so honorably and bravely done. Hopital Albert Schweitzer has been providing care to this region since 1954 and with the support of people all over the world I hope it can continue to service this region forever and ever.

Friday, February 5th 2010______________________________________________________________

Video 5 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti

Tursday, February 4th 2010_____________________________________________________________

Video 4 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti

Wednesday, February 3rd 2010__________________________________________________________

Video 3 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti

So I've been down here in Haiti for a few weeks trying to help my dad out the best I can while he continues to lead Hopital Albert Schweitzer Haiti through some of the toughest times it has ever faced.

I came down here just shy of two weeks after the massive 7.0 earthquake shook the country to the ground. I flew in on a private plane which was bringing doctors, reporters, much needed medical supplies, and me. I spent my first night sleeping with one eye open on the tarmac at the Port au Prince airport. I watched as massive military planes unloaded tons of supplies. Most of them looked more like buildings with wings than airplanes. Trucks Marked UN, US, France, Turkey, and hundreds of other country's authorities raced around coordinating plans and supplies for the following day. It was surreal. I've been to this airport many times in my life often greeted upon arriving with the sounds of a band playing as I walk towards customs. This time the building was cracked and the only sounds were jets and sirens. The reason I slept on the runway the first night was I was not permitted to leave until daytime. I heard rumors from soldiers that the jails had fallen and the prisoners were let loose. It wasn't safe to travel with a truck loaded with supplies until day break.

When I got to the hospital the next day it was a really nice feeling. I hung on the side of a trailer filled with boxes of pain killers, antibiotics, and surgical supplies. I passed the big mural we did in November still in perfect condition. It was a great feeling to be back to my home away from home away from home away from home. I was happy to be bringing these supplies and I was happy to see my dad.

Once the truck was all unloaded I got to sit down with my pops and reflect on the weeks before. It had been hard on him, I could see it in his eyes, and I could tell by how quick he would well up, and how little he wanted to talk about the tragedies he witnessed. I could tell he hadn't been sleeping much and he was becoming very attached to many patients from spending so much time in the halls doing what he could to make them feel better.

Hopital Albert Schweitzer is in the center of the country in a region known as the Artibonite Valley, in a town called Deschapelles. It was far from the center of the quake. It did not sustain much damage which is great news for all those I love here, and great for the hospital my grandparents built in the 50's. It was even better news for the victims 2.5 hours away in Port au Prince. Many of the hospitals in the city had been leveled or were severely damaged by the quake and were not in use immediately after. HAS was the first response in many cases.

Because of the severity of the quake, whole buildings fell on people. Hundreds of thousands of people died all so fast their bodies were just piled up in the streets in the days after. Those who did survive largely had bad traumatic injuries caused by concrete chunks hitting them and breaking their bones. They were in massive amounts of pain and needed treatment ASAP or they too would join their fellow Haitians dead in the streets. It was a very scary reality for many to face. I'm so thankful I was not here when it happened because hearing the stories from so so so many people was more than I could take much less to have to witness or be a victim of the horrors myself. Thankfully hundreds made it to Hopital Albert Schweitzer on time for life saving treatment despite having to travel up bumpy roads in the back of pickup trucks for hours.

Even when I got here two weeks after the big shake, I saw the hospital filled way beyond capacity. I had never in my life seen so many people at this hospital. Many patients were placed in the halls and their loved ones slept under their cots on the ground.

It was a trying first week as many faced surgery, while others got bandages changed and began the healing process. Thankfully there were finally some pain killers here. Even with them, some patients wailed in agony. If I close my eyes I can still picture one man screaming on my first day here as a nurse peeled away blood soaked bandages to reveal exposed muscle on his arm. Across the hall a few feet away a man sat quietly watching with his left leg wretchedly broken in several places and yet the surgeons so overloaded still did not have time to operate yet, so he sat and waited patiently for his turn.

All in all you could see the hope in the eyes of all people here. Every patient seemed relieved they made it this far, and now they were in good hands with the doctors and care HAS was providing. They were gonna make it through this and they knew it.

They could be relieved to know that whatever care they recieved it wouldn't even cost them a penny because HAS is supported by generous donations from all over the world.

Tuesday, February 2nd 2010____________________________________________________________

Video 2 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti

Monday, February 1st 2010_____________________________________________________________

Video 1 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti

Summer of 2009_____________________________________________________________________

Fulbright In Brazil


			HAITI NEEDS YOUR HELP! PLEASE VISIT www.hashaiti.org TO MAKE A DONATION NOW! Sunday, February7th 2010_____________________________________________________________ Time. Time is the distance between being here and being there. Time is the thirty years of my life. Time is the space between the day my grandparents opened HAS and now. Time is the moment a baby's departure from a mother's womb gives way to its first breath Time is a fleeting moment, a single breath, and a life time of breathing. It is eternal and it is momentary. Time is an instant as much as it is a lifetime. Time is the essence of life. Time is passing right now. Time is one hundred thirty heart beats a minute; twelve breaths per minute. Time is an hour; its sixty minutes; its three thousand six hundred seconds. How many foot steps every hour? That is time in various measurements. It can be measured in a million ways and quantified in a million more. Multiply that by another million more, and that is how many ways time can be felt. Some would say its been a long time since the Jan 12th earthquake rumbled the earth of Haiti. Others would say its only been four weeks since it destroyed the lives of millions. How do you measure the time since you had your leg? How do you measure the time since you saw your child for the last time? How you measure the time it will take for skin to grow over the exposed muscles in your arms? How do you measure the time since you saw your house crush your leg and killed your son? The house that you cherished. The house you built with your own hands. The place you raised and nurtured your family. The house that took all that from you when it fell. How do you measure the time a country will take to heal? How do you measure that time laying in a bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the screams across the room as the nurse removes the dressings on other patients wounds? How do you measure the next patients barking, crying, wailing? By the scream? By the tear? By the prayer? How do you measure the time until its your turn? Until the anticipation gives way to your own reality? How do you measure the time that it will take for the skin around your amputated leg to grow together closing the wound; Closing the chapter in your life when you walked; When you skipped? How do you measure the time until you learn to walk again? How do you measure the time until you will never learn to walk again; Never see him again; Never hug her again; Never know where they are? How do you measure the time it takes to stop crying? How do you measure the time it takes to take your last breath? How do you measure the time you will spend watching until they take theirs? Today I walked the halls of Hopital Albert Schweitzer with a team of orthopedic surgeons who just arrived from Atlanta. I thought of the time since I had last seen Dr. Guy. I thought of what he must have done since I had last seen him. I thought about the time he and his team will be here. One week. What will they do? What will they be able to accomplish? I saw determination in their eyes. I saw confidence. I could see the sight of blood and open skin was no stranger to them. The dozens of external fixations posted through skin into setting bones, the x-rays, the gauze, the, fear and hope in their patients souls, their trauma.... This was where they lived. This was their territory. They spent their lives honing in on their ability to see this, and know just what to do, and how to do it. They were embarking on a week of healing. As many times as I have walked the halls of HAS, the sight of injuries is never something I have totally gotten used to. Or maybe I've gotten used to it, but it still makes me uncomfortable. In the last weeks I've seen all too much of it. Every time I see a woman's pink muscle exposed again, and cleaned again, while she winces in pain; every time I see large metal posts sticking through the flesh, clutching to healing bones, I feel it inside me. It hurts me to watch. I feel pain inside of me because I can't grasp the pain they feel inside of them. Today I became all to conscious of my own feet. I have stood on them billions of times. I have walked so many steps, ran so many more. All moments. Millions of moments that string together, and in the cluster of them... I can't remember a single one of them. They are lost in a sea of countless seconds, minutes, years and decades. Today I felt my feet like I never felt them before. I watched as the Atlanta team of orthopedic surgeons pulled the skin together around the place where a woman's leg once was. They talked calmly about a strategy to get the skin to close around the stump. To heal. To permanently close. Her foot was not there. she could not and will not feel it ever again. I stood there staring blankly, at this calm group of doctors, and I began to feel my feet. I wanted to hold on to that feeling and never forget it. I had never been more thankful to feel myself standing. I looked at the face of the woman. She had gotten over it to some extent. She had morned her leg by now. She was coming to terms with it. As thankful as I was for feeling my foot at that moment, she was more, because she knew she was breathing. She was alive. She made it. Not everyone did and she was being cared for by people who knew what to do. She had been cared for over the last few weeks now. Weeks which must have felt like an eternity. Weeks where she has still not healed but has begun to. Weeks where she stared at the ceiling and waited. Waited the time it takes to get better and to accept ones new reality. A reality which was delivered in a few short seconds. A reality you share with a nation of people. She wasn't alone. In that same room still laying in their cots were others with broken legs, broken arms broken cheeks... broken spirits. The sight of blood was becoming familiar to all of them in this room. Sounds of pain were becoming as regular as their own breath. And it is the same in the next room, and in the halls, and in the courtyards where families watch and heal together. The sight of doctors was even more familiar. What does it feel like to be in good hands? How do you balance the fear of the unknown with the faith, that this man and this woman standing over you, know you have nothing to fear but fear its self? How do you measure the time it will take to accept that? How do you measure the time it will take you to realize that these people saved your life? They saved all these lives, and they were here for you when you needed them most. How do you measure a lifetime of gratitude? Time..... The time is now to help. Visit www.hashaiti.org and make a donation and join us in helping the Haitian people. Saturday, February 6th 2010_____________________________________________________________ A young Turkish woman named Gozde Avci has been staying with us here in Deschapelles. Yesterday we took a trip to Port au Prince, and while there, we made a stop at the Karibe Hotel. It was a strange site. This was a new hotel in Haiti many would call it the nicest one in the country. Much more like a five star resort than a hotel at all, with beautiful dining areas, a massive lobby, wifi internet, and a beautiful pool with a built in bar and waterfall. We parked in the now empty parking lot, walked by the balcony of the room I stayed in just a few months before, now cracked and falling apart and strangely empty. This was a hot spot for foreigners and wealthy locals who would come to take advantage of this slice of paradise in an impoverished country. The view from the hilltop hotel was of slums stacked on top of slums on all along the adjacent mountains, now many reduced to rubble. It was a staunch contrast. The Karibe was new though, and it was a sign to many that we were on the verge of a new Haiti. One where foreign investors might come to do business, where young couples might come to vacation, one where Haiti might know a middle class and not such a massive class divide. Now though in one foul swoop, there are cracks in that vision as there are in this once glorious hotel. Gozde wanted to stop here as this place has something to do with why she is with us at all. You see she was planning to come to Haiti, long before the big shake, to visit a friend of hers who was working with the UNDP (as she once did) and staying here in this compound in apartments which shared the hotel grounds. It was here where he had passed away in the earthquake leaving behind a wife and one of three children. One, which he may have even saved, as his last action in life. Gozde wanted to see this place, she wanted to cry, she wanted to pray for a better place for him. To me it was a brave sight watching her march in to the closed hotel to find the very place where she lost her friend on the day hundreds of thousands of people lost theirs as well. When she came back out, it was tears which took her. She worked through her emotions feeling her loss and finding closure. One could only feel empathetic. In fact as I write this now I'm choking back tears as well it had to be hard for her and I was deeply touched. Gozde is a friend of my Turkish cousins from my mom's side Jonas, Jem, and Ned. When she heard of the loss of her friend here in Haiti, they recommended she go to Haiti anyway. They told her of their uncle, my dad, and the work he does at Hopital Albert Schweitzer. They said she should come to visit and maybe she could help. I'm so glad she found the courage to come because I feel blessed to know her and call her my friend now too. She is no stranger to this form of tragedy and no stranger to the trials which will surely follow. She had lived through the Turkish earthquake of 1999, and has worked dozens of countries for the UNDP as an employee and consultant working on economic development strategies in countries such as Yemen, Kosovo, Pakistan, Burundi, Rwanda, and Iraq. It was this experience that makes her presence at HAS invaluable now. Now that the immediate trauma is slowing down there is a bigger need than ever for economic strategies here. You see the crisis is over as far as surgeries, but the Haiti has always been in crisis. It's the very reason Gwen and Larry even built HAS. Here the hospital usually treats diseases of poverty. This country has been scraping by for decades, and only recently did many people see much change in that, and now in 30 seconds the entire country has been shook back twenty years. Gozde and I have been working on strategies which fit the new vision of HAS and the UNDP. You see if you treat problems of poverty and don't treat poverty its self you are running in place. Lately HAS has launched an integrated community services program, which will be the future of HAS. It offers programs with wells and water, HTRIP (a reforestation program), and community health program, which essentially brings the Hospital a little closer to the patients. The UNDP is offering grants to NGO's to provide short term economic stability with work for pay programs. Then on a longer term they will offer grants which will encourage long term economic stability. These grants are meant to help IDP's, one of the UN's 12 million acronyms, meaning internally displaced persons. In our 610 square mile region of the Artibonite Valley there are tens of thousands of IDP's, each with a story of loss beyond comprehension. They are putting strain on the economy and the hospital. Many plan to stay as they have lost their houses, families, friends, and jobs in the big city. Many are in shock still now nearly four weeks after. Gozde is a slick, smart, fast talking woman who easily slips between several languages. One minute with her in the UN complex, and you can tell she knows how to play the game and how to work with the system. She found friends quickly talking about falafel and speaking in arabic. She would stop turkish military and ask in her native tongue where various departments were located. She would attend clusters asking questions in french and hearing answers in english like they were all one unified language to her. She knew all the acronyms the UNDP used in every language. We quickly discovered how HAS could participate in programs, to boost the economy, and build up the infrastructure of our region, by helping the IDP's and the families who host them in the Artibonite. So now we write proposals and plan for a time in the near future to return to Haiti, for an extended period of time, to lead projects which will provide jobs for thousands of people, and lead our region toward economic sustainability. Projects include road improvements to the hospital dispensaries; expanded efforts of HTRIP building more terraces and planting more trees; empowering women with literacy programs; building and expanding youth programs with sports, education and arts; expanding wells and water programs; and creating subsidized vocational training programs; all while providing jobs to thousands of displaced people. Its an exciting time here where so many people are interested in helping, but it needs more. The tragedy here is that, Haiti has always been in a constant state of crisis, the earthquake was just an insult to the long running, deep felt, injury. It was however just the jolt the rest of the world needed to take notice in Haiti, and join us in supporting the Haitian people my grandparents loved, my parents love, and I grew up loving so much. I hope that generations to follow will continue to, and more people like Gozde will find their way here and lend a hand, like she has so honorably and bravely done. Hopital Albert Schweitzer has been providing care to this region since 1954 and with the support of people all over the world I hope it can continue to service this region forever and ever. Friday, February 5th 2010______________________________________________________________ Video 5 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti Tursday, February 4th 2010_____________________________________________________________ Video 4 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti Wednesday, February 3rd 2010__________________________________________________________ Video 3 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti So I've been down here in Haiti for a few weeks trying to help my dad out the best I can while he continues to lead Hopital Albert Schweitzer Haiti through some of the toughest times it has ever faced. I came down here just shy of two weeks after the massive 7.0 earthquake shook the country to the ground. I flew in on a private plane which was bringing doctors, reporters, much needed medical supplies, and me. I spent my first night sleeping with one eye open on the tarmac at the Port au Prince airport. I watched as massive military planes unloaded tons of supplies. Most of them looked more like buildings with wings than airplanes. Trucks Marked UN, US, France, Turkey, and hundreds of other country's authorities raced around coordinating plans and supplies for the following day. It was surreal. I've been to this airport many times in my life often greeted upon arriving with the sounds of a band playing as I walk towards customs. This time the building was cracked and the only sounds were jets and sirens. The reason I slept on the runway the first night was I was not permitted to leave until daytime. I heard rumors from soldiers that the jails had fallen and the prisoners were let loose. It wasn't safe to travel with a truck loaded with supplies until day break. When I got to the hospital the next day it was a really nice feeling. I hung on the side of a trailer filled with boxes of pain killers, antibiotics, and surgical supplies. I passed the big mural we did in November still in perfect condition. It was a great feeling to be back to my home away from home away from home away from home. I was happy to be bringing these supplies and I was happy to see my dad. Once the truck was all unloaded I got to sit down with my pops and reflect on the weeks before. It had been hard on him, I could see it in his eyes, and I could tell by how quick he would well up, and how little he wanted to talk about the tragedies he witnessed. I could tell he hadn't been sleeping much and he was becoming very attached to many patients from spending so much time in the halls doing what he could to make them feel better. Hopital Albert Schweitzer is in the center of the country in a region known as the Artibonite Valley, in a town called Deschapelles. It was far from the center of the quake. It did not sustain much damage which is great news for all those I love here, and great for the hospital my grandparents built in the 50's. It was even better news for the victims 2.5 hours away in Port au Prince. Many of the hospitals in the city had been leveled or were severely damaged by the quake and were not in use immediately after. HAS was the first response in many cases. Because of the severity of the quake, whole buildings fell on people. Hundreds of thousands of people died all so fast their bodies were just piled up in the streets in the days after. Those who did survive largely had bad traumatic injuries caused by concrete chunks hitting them and breaking their bones. They were in massive amounts of pain and needed treatment ASAP or they too would join their fellow Haitians dead in the streets. It was a very scary reality for many to face. I'm so thankful I was not here when it happened because hearing the stories from so so so many people was more than I could take much less to have to witness or be a victim of the horrors myself. Thankfully hundreds made it to Hopital Albert Schweitzer on time for life saving treatment despite having to travel up bumpy roads in the back of pickup trucks for hours. Even when I got here two weeks after the big shake, I saw the hospital filled way beyond capacity. I had never in my life seen so many people at this hospital. Many patients were placed in the halls and their loved ones slept under their cots on the ground. It was a trying first week as many faced surgery, while others got bandages changed and began the healing process. Thankfully there were finally some pain killers here. Even with them, some patients wailed in agony. If I close my eyes I can still picture one man screaming on my first day here as a nurse peeled away blood soaked bandages to reveal exposed muscle on his arm. Across the hall a few feet away a man sat quietly watching with his left leg wretchedly broken in several places and yet the surgeons so overloaded still did not have time to operate yet, so he sat and waited patiently for his turn. All in all you could see the hope in the eyes of all people here. Every patient seemed relieved they made it this far, and now they were in good hands with the doctors and care HAS was providing. They were gonna make it through this and they knew it. They could be relieved to know that whatever care they recieved it wouldn't even cost them a penny because HAS is supported by generous donations from all over the world. Tuesday, February 2nd 2010____________________________________________________________ Video 2 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti Monday, February 1st 2010_____________________________________________________________ Video 1 from Hopital Albert Schweitzer, Haiti Summer of 2009_____________________________________________________________________ Fulbright In Brazil