Day 4: The Aftermath

It is the 4th day since I have been back home in NYC. I know this blog was only supposed to last the duration of my trip, but rather lost in a daze and feeling quite out of place in my own life - I felt compelled to write about my experience on the other side of the world. I'm not sure if you're even out there anymore, dear reader. But if you are...so am I.

It was strange to wake up in Haiti on Saturday morning and go to bed in NYC Saturday night. Can you imagine two places more opposite? Yet the impact of this separation and the weight of the trip were hardly noticeable from behind a 101 degree temperature and a body so achy I was certain it was going to fall apart. Before I left for Haiti I got a half dozen shots and a bottle of pills to ward off the symptoms of malaria. With these pills I was instructed that if I had any (with an emphasis on "any") flu-like symptoms in the 6months that followed my return, I would have to see a doctor because it could be malaria. I laughed as I put my hand on my burning forehead - of course I'd get malaria. I went to Haiti expecting something big to happen, something life changing. Who knew that "big thing" that was so life changing would be malaria. It's actually very comical if you think about it. I laughed.

Two days later after an entire Sunday spent at a 103 degree temperature - hotter than it was outside - I finally went to the hospital to get some tests done. A friend of a friend of a friend made time for me at a city hospital in the Bronx. She specializes in parasitic studies so she seemed the perfect doctor to see, particularly when you don't have insurance - so my other choice was some doctor at a crowded city hospital who doesn't have time for any patient so you get half-assed care after spending all day in a dirty waiting room. Yup, I'd definitely try my chances with this other doctor.

The PA filled 6 small tubes and 2 rather large jars of my blood for more test work than I have ever had taken. A million questions more tests a few cups and 5 hours later and I finally was able to leave. At that point I was malaria free...for now. Malaria can show itself anywhere up to a year after returning, even if you're tested as soon as you're home. I'll stick with optimism for now and assume I'm in the clear - it's best to never underestimate the power of positive thinking.

I woke up today without a fever and feeling much more like a human being. Since Saturday I really had been just a shell of a human laying sick on the couch like a zombie and crying over ridiculous things because I was so tired I couldn't think straight. Even still, through all the fever and aches I surprisingly had a massive appetite. What I craved most were cold milk and some sort of chocolatey cereal. In two days I have finished almost an entire gallon of milk and nearly 2 boxes of cereal (powdered milk is really terrible, believe me!) In Leogane all I had wanted was a huge NY slice of pizza, but after the slice I had from the place next door that left me in the bathroom for an entire day, my appetite for pizza suddenly dwindled.

I haven't thought twice about being able to flush my toilet paper or not having to spray bug spray before bed or soap that comes from a pump. But I have found it hard to take showers that are even luke-warm. A month of water that's never colder than rain water and you start to get used to it. The warm water that's usually too cold felt like it was scalding my skin. I also have been finding it ludacris how much water I have used to shower. I waste more water turning on the shower and undressing than I did cleaning my entire body in Leogane. Yet, it's hard not to stand in the shower for far longer than you need when you know the water will just keep coming. Shame on me, especially after witnessing the lack of water first-hand. I guess old habits really do die hard.

Everyone asks if I'm happy to be home or if I miss Haiti. I fnd it's easier just to lie - it's so hard to explain what I'm really feeling, especially when what I'm feeling is not much of anything. Or I tell them I've hardly had time to think about it since I've been so sick (which is the truth.) Mostly I just feel numb. It is completely normal to be back, which doesn't feel right. In all actuality, it's as if I never went - like it was all just a dream. If it wasn't for the huge mound of dirty clothes that lies on the floor at the foot of my bed, I'd swear I had never left. I wonder when it will sink in.

It's a little difficult to fall back into my old routines, mostly because I thought I would be over them by now and apparently I'm not. It doesn't feel right to go back to catering where I serve people with far too much money, when I just spent so much time serving people with far too little. I'm trying to cope with that right now. I'm trying to figure out where I'm supposed to go from here. It's feels a bit of a let down to be back to how it was. Then again, it doesn't feel much like anything.

Day 7: Jupiter

Tonight I am staring out at an ALMOST full moon. The skies are quiet and calm after the ALMOST hurricane rains that tormented the sky earlier in the day (I clearly underestimated the rains; the rain two days ago was nothing compared to today.) Across from the smiling face is a bright Jupiter, battling for ownership of the heavens. Beautiful. It’s amazing to think that here in the midst of utmost poverty, thousands of miles from home, I am staring at the same moon as the one seen in NYC, in Detroit, wherever you are, dear reader. It’s a funny thing that we can be worlds away and yet stare at the same brilliant moon. I wonder what it is that you are doing right now? Perhaps you are enjoying an ice cold beverage (something I’d give my right arm for), or laying in your air conditioned room on a bed that does not need to be blown up nor is sopping wet from this morning’s showers. Or perhaps, you are staring at the same moon wondering what it is exactly that I am doing. And if that is the case, then you and I are not as far apart as it may seem.

...

I worked on the rubble site for a school today. A three-story kindergarten collapsed to almost ground level. Some of the children are attending school under a tarp in a space about ten feet by ten feet, or so. It was a strange thing to dig up rubble and find smashed chairs, ripped homework, and worst of all clothing. I told myself they were extra clothes kept for emergencies to keep myself from thinking of the alternative. After lunch, the headmaster informed us that no children had died in the school; they had all been dismissed about an hour or two before the quake hit. It was like taking off my winter coat in the middle of a Haitian summer.

A lot of people (non-Haitian) have asked “why aren’t they doing more for themselves?” or “ why haven’t they cleaned up more of the mess?” If you have never stood at the base of a 6 foot tall pile of rubble, with not enough tools (or no tools for most Haitians), no help, no money, and nowhere to put all the rubble you will be removing, than you have absolutely no idea how unbelievably overwhelming and impossible of a job it is. This is not my homeland nor are any of these piles of rubble my house, and I come with a group of willing and able-bodied workers with more than enough tools and supplies. And yet, when I arrive at sites like the one today and see all of that broken concrete I want to cry thinking about how absurdly exhausting and incredibly overwhelming that pile is. And I get to leave at the end of the day. Sooner or later I get to go home to my therapeutic bed and apartment building with running water and electricity, without fear of it crumbling on top of my head. There is so much to do on just ONE site, not to mention the whole of Haiti. But they don’t cry, at least not openly. They just smile and say “bonjou! Komon ou ye?” (Hello. How are you?)

Another volunteer and I were talking about post traumatic stress and how many Haitians had to be suffering from it and yet they would never receive any medical attention or help. They would simply (or not so simply) have to live with it. And then shortly after a different volunteer told me how she had taken a walk with a Local and he showed her his house. A few steps later he pointed out, “and this is where I sleep.” She didn’t understand why his house and his sleeping grounds were separate from each other. He explained to her that they lived in their house, ate there, kept their belongings there, but they did not feel safe to sleep there in case another quake were to shake their world. So every night he went to a tiny tent to sleep - the only way he felt safe. It made me think how many people must feel that way. Imagine to never feel safe in your house again. I also heard from a schoolmaster that since many children were still in school when the quake happened, even though some schools have been rebuilt, the children are afraid to return to them. Can you blame them? To experience something immensely traumatic at such an early age - how do you ever go back?

The rest of your life in fear…I can’t fathom it. However, above all that, they just keep going on, smiling, and living life – in fear or not – they just keep living life.