Friday in the Barrio

Dominican Republic Trip Nov. 2010—Journal Entry No. 7
Friday was our last workday and it was a bit different. We worked at Barrio Pico Piedra, the home of one of our translators, Jean Robert. While a significantly more urban setting than the bateys, it was also more spacious as we worked in a church that was three times the size of the buildings we used on our previous days. The accommodations felt luxurious in comparison. The bigger space and more crowded setting also meant we treated more patients; 115 in one day. While on previous days we did door-to-door food distribution, today we handed out food only to patients who came to the clinic, giving them a bag as they exited the building. The people also seemed a bit more well off as everyone had shoes. But alas, everything is relative! At about 11 a.m. a 16-year-old mom named Hermani came in with a 6 lb, 7-month-old baby boy named Jordan. It was the most tragic situation I have ever seen.

At the clinic, it was impossible to assess the extent of the baby’s problems. He was clearly dehydrated, and he was so severely malnourished that he looked like a skeleton with skin. Beyond that, the medical professionals couldn’t tell. All agreed that the best course of action was to take Hermani and Jordan to the Good Sam immediately. Fortunately, Kristy had her truck so that was doable without having to strand the team at the barrio. Kristy asked me to join her in order to let the hospital and the mom know that there was some semblance of financial backing for the baby’s needs. On route to the hospital, we learned that the family had no food, clothes or money. The baby hadn’t had any milk for 2 days and prior to that the frequency of access to milk was very spotty. We learned what street Hermani lives on but that her house has no number, which may make it hard for health care providers to find her and do any follow up care. A month ago, Hermani had taken Jordan to the public health hospital and had received minimal care there and was sent home….an unfathomable fact given that it would have taken months for Jordan to deteriorate to the extent he had. As we drove to the hospital, I once again had the burden of trying to determine what kind of funds our team was being asked to provide. I was silently praying that I wouldn’t have to be the one to fail this family by not having the resources they needed. I asked Kristy for a ballpark figure for what a day in the hospital would cost: $50. Then I asked for a best guesstimate for how long the baby would have to be there: at least a week. Finally I asked to a prognosis: bleak. When we got to the ER, the doctors said his veins are so collapsed that they will have to start with oral rehydration before they can put in an IV. The good news is that as of the day we departed, we learned that Juley tested negative for both HIV and Hepatitis. Plus they were able to get an IV in his heel and start hydrating him that way. The sad news is that the baby’s hemoglobin is 6; the lowest you want for a baby is 11. This means that Jordan needs a blood transfusion, which can’t happen til he’s hydrated and they can get a bigger needle in his veins, and it means he will most likely have brain damage. The most beautiful part of the story is that despite Hermani being a teenage, single mom, she adores her son. We have that in common. I got to help her prepare a bottle. I sang to Jordan while I held him so Hermani could take care of some necessary steps of the admission process. His tiny body made my palm feel huge. The rest of the afternoon at the hospital was a bit of a blur and I eventually left the doctors to their work, met up with the team and we went off to the beach.

Our second trip to the beach was as glorious as the first. A more leisurely endeavor, this trip included dinner on the beach—scrumptious fried chicken packed by our hosts. I could tell that everyone was starting the process of peeling away from La Romana. Already people were starting to say sentences like, “Next year when we come…” In addition to swimming and eating, we took a team photo. All of the kids—age 10 to age 18—played a huge game of pickle. It was sweet to see the kids who had been doing the jobs of grown ups all week return to being kids.

When we returned to Casa Pastorale, our hosts had a celebration waiting for us. Musicians from the church played dance-worthy Dominican praise songs and got all of us gringos grooving like we knew how! We ended our evening with cake and a sharing time with Kristy. The women’s dorm was quiet as we all headed to bed. There was lots of practical conversation about how we were going to get the 140 lbs of coffee we bought home, where we should leave the shoes and clothes we were donating to the mission, and how much we should tip our hosts. But throughout it all, there was a tenor of sadness at the prospect of leaving. As much as I missed my extended family and friends, I wasn’t ready to give up the feelings that the work in La Romana had awakened in me.