We're back from a week in Hinche, Haiti, a mid-sized city about 80 miles northeast of Port-au-Prince. I was a trailing spouse, along for the ride while my wife Cindy took a turn with a midwifery training program run by
Midwives for Haiti at the local hospital. We stayed at
Maison Fortune, an orphanage and school for about 210 children, most of whom still have parents who can't take care of them, and about a quarter of whom are Port-au-Prince refugees from the earthquake. My impression is that the school is a relative paradise for the children, in that they eat well, go to school full-time (a remarkable number of Haitians seem to be still slogging away at a high school degree in their mid-to-late twenties), and have plenty of play time, mostly basketball and soccer, under light supervision (in fact, from my vantage point all but invisible supervision). The children get along well, and the older take care of the younger to a degree.
No one needs me to describe the superficial signs of the terrible poverty of Haiti -- the unpaved, rocky, deeply rutted and mounded roads lined with one-room shacks and tiny, windowless storefronts, the children and old people patting their bellies at the sight of a foreigner, the malnourished babies lying in bare cribs at the Azil, an outpost of Mother Teresa's Missionaries of Charity. Nor to fill in the country's sad statistical profile: 30% of students reaching the sixth grade, less than 40% of the population with access to basic health care, 60% malnourished, about half of deaths from curable, manageable and preventable diseases. Worth recording, though, are Cindy's experiences in the hospital with women in labor.
Cindy participated in a program training some dozen Haitian midwives at a time, each of whom is a high school graduate who has already passed a course of training equivalent to that of a nurse's aide. The current student cohort graduates the yearlong program in November, so they have particpated in quite a few births by this point. An edited interview follows.
What was the most striking thing about your work with the Hinche students?
How much they are able to do with limited resources they have. These are women who have not gone to nursing school as we know it, women with limited education and dealing with some very complex situations.
What was most disturbing?
Women aren't getting the care that we would consider standard here in US and because of that they're definitely suffering.
What for example is lacking?
The women receive limited prenatal care, and they often don't to the hospital, whether because they have transportation problems or because they think [wrongly] that they will have to pay. The women are malnourished, often anemic, and prone to preeclampsia, a dangerous condition involving elevated blood pressure that can lead to seizures and is a leading cause of death in childbirth.
In the hospital, the women have limited access to basic medications such as antibiotics -- if the pharmacy says they don't have it, the family has to go and buy it, and many have no money. There is no pain medication. No oxygen -- if you need to resuscitate, all you have is an ambu bag.
What's an ambu bag?
A mask that goes over nose and mouth, connected to a ball-like primer that you squeeze to produce an air flow. In the U.S., it would be hooked up to an oxygen source.