this email is from my brother that just returned from Haiti
From: Thomas Rosen <thomrosen@hotmail.com>
Date: Sat, Feb 6, 2010 at 12:33 AM
Subject: RE: whats up
To: Bi Rosen <ohthebilldotcom@gmail.com>
Monday, Jan 25, 2010
Port Au Prince, Haiti
It's hard to sort through my feelings this evening; I struggle back and forth from pride from our accomplishments today to hopelessness at the magnitude of the problem. What a day! Dr. Ivankovich and I awoke at 3:30 am in order to meet a flatbed truck we had arranged the day before. Driving through the streets of Port Au Prince in the darkness, winding through the rubble and past small garbage fires and sleeping families in the streets, our destination was Carrefour Hospital. With the help of Dr. Colleen O'Connell, a Canadian rehab specialist with Handicap International, we had scouted out and found five patients with spinal injuries at this hospital yesterday, but were unable to return until now. The physician there is a French doc with Doctors Without Borders, and had done a great job caring for these patients as well as he could have under the circumstances. He had made sure each patient had a caretaker with them at all times, that the patients were bathed before we arrived, and that the patients and their families were informed and agreed with the plan for us to pick them up and take them to the American field hospital at the airport. What they didn't know is that the hospital wasn't expecting them and honestly didn't want them. We knew that, well at least we hoped that, if we could get them there they would receive better care and even possibly a trip to the states at some point, if we could work it out. We knew that they would die where they were, and although there were certainly no guarantees, their best chance of survival was at the airport hospital.
We arrived at around 5:30 am, and found the patients as we had seen them the day before, lying on dirty sheets or thin mattresses on the cement patio, under a tent, near the back of the hospital grounds. The patients are all young, ranging from 23 to 39 years old, men and women, all paralyzed from the waist down, some with multiple injuries. Their families are excited to see us, but the patients show little emotion. I can't imagine how they must be feeling right now.
There are no stretchers there, which is a big deal especially when moving patients with spinal cord injuries, so we are thankful we kept the makeshift stretcher we used the day before. It is a piece of used plywood, about 6 feet long by 18 inches wide, with rope handles and grafitti painted all over it. Not ideal, but we make do. One by one we load them into the back of the truck, being as careful as possible. No matter how careful we are, we are all worried of causing further injury by moving these patients. They are, after all, lying on the cold steel bed of a flatbed truck, and about to be driven over rough streets to our destination.
A slow, bumpy, 45 minute ride at dawn takes us to the UN building where we are hoping they can be airlifted by helicopter the rest of the way to the airport hospital. I rode with them in the back, cringing with each bump in the road, with really little to do but try to assure them everything was going to be OK.
We meet a little resistance at first with the military staff there; they are skeptical that the hospital will accept them, but Dr I works his magic and somehow gets them to agree to help us. The air force officer asked me for the coordinates of the "LZ", or landing zone. I said: "Dude, I have no idea; we just need to get them to the hospital at the airport." He smiled, and I realized he, as a military officer, probably wasn't used to being addressed as "dude". No harm, I guess, since he got on the radio and 30 seconds later a helicopter landed in the small soccer field 100 yards in front of us. Each of the first two choppers takes two patients each, with the fifth patient going in the third. Realizing there would be extra room with only one patient, and thinking it might be helpful to the hospital staff when we arrive, and also honestly a little excited about the prospect of riding in the helicopter, I ask the officer if I can go with. He agrees with no hesitation, and away I go. Dr I will continue to drive, and meet us there.
The short flight revealed the scope of the devastation. Flattened buildings as far as the eye could see, with intermittent tent cities and rising smoke, bathed in the early morning glow of the rising sun. I tried, unsuccessfully, to fully comprehend the sheer numbers of people affected by this earthquake, but I can't wrap my brain around it; even though it is right there before my eyes, just a few hundred feet below. Before I knew it, we arrived at the airport. The helicopter landing zone is at the south end of the airport, probably still a mile away from the hospital at the far north end of the hospital grounds. The army is waiting our arrival, and in true army fashion quickly and efficiently load the patients in the back of hummers, and again away I go. I have never ridden in the back of so many trucks before...bumpy, hot, dirty, uncomfortable, but actually a little fun.
As expected, I wasn't exactly met with open arms and a slap on the back, but rather a couple of pissed off docs. They remembered me from last night, and flat out told me they could do nothing for these patients, and to bring them back to where they came from. The army didn't want anything to do with this squabble, and at my direction quickly unloaded them under a canopy next to the triage tent. A small victory for me, since now that the hummers were gone, they had no choice but to take care of these patients that we had worked so hard for. The docs there still didn't see it that way, though, so I worked every angle I could, from ignorance: " All I know is that someone last night told us it was OK" (not true), to defiant: "Well they are here now, so if you want to tell the patients and their families that you're choosing not to care for them, then go ahead" to presumptive: "I have all the medical and background info on these patients written on this sheet, who should I give it to in the triage tent?". They didn't budge. Dr I was on his way in the truck, and they wanted to talk to him.
Surprisingly, Dr I didn't have much more luck. They were ignoring us and the patients. We thought of just leaving, but were worried for the patients' well-being. We fed them a couple of hours later, a family member had alerted us that they were hungry. One of the patients, a young woman in her twenties, started crying while Dr I was feeding her. "What's wrong?" seemed like a silly question to ask a woman, lying on the ground, paralyzed, with multiple injuries, hungry, and scared, but we really didn't know what had prompted her emotions right there and then. After alerting a Creole interpreter, we soon found out that she was just overwhelmed with the whole situation, and had lost three children in the earthquake. We asked the interpreter if she could stay a few minutes to talk with and console her, and she did.
Within hours, a bigwig neurosurgeon who apparently had clout landed at the hospital. Dr. Green, it became obvious, was running the show, and made all the decisions regarding the hospital. Colleen, the physician from HI, was expecting him. We all sat on boxes under a canopy for an impromptu meeting. We explained our situation, and he readily agreed to accept and care for the spinal cord injury patients. "That's what we're here for!" was his response. Within an hour, it was decided to take care of all spinal cord injury patients, with a dedicated hospital tent, the intent to temporarily medevac them in the coming days to Miami for assessment and distribution to regional spine centers, and return in several weeks for rehab. That was all we needed to hear. It was around 2 PM. I was physically and emotionally exhausted. It had already been a long day, but we had more patients to get.
From: ohthebilldotcom@gmail.com
To: Thomrosen@hotmail.com
Subject: whats up
Date: Fri, 5 Feb 2010 21:19:00 -0600
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