02 June 2013

Bed 9B

That's me. I'm the "blan" in Bed 9B at Bernard Mevs hospital in Port-au-Prince. I have appendicitis. I cannot sleep. The fourteen-year-old boy in 9A has been vomiting and has a high fever. Currently, his mom is yelling at him for peeing on the tile floor. He is apologizing over and over, and I feel for him. 

My own baby is spending the night with someone else for the first time. I am not worried about him, but I do miss him. When we arrived at the hospital at 8:00 this morning, we had no idea what kind of day we were in for. He was such a good boy, playing contendedly in his car seat for most of the morning, chewing on the big red feet of his frog toy. That's his favorite. I know, because I'm his mom...but right now, I can't be. That almost hurts more than the pain the morphine isn't cutting through. 

Our MAF neighbors kindly brought us some essentials: bed sheets for the thick foam mattress; David's Kindle; food; my milk pump. (You know, so I don't explode.) The room isn't much to write home about, but it's clean. The walls are a salmon pink that's probably supposed to be soothing, but which reminds me of Pepto-Bismol. It's poorly screened, and flies and mosquitoes keep landing on me. There is a storage closet with a broken sink which ten different people need access to.

There is only one light in the room we share with Bed 9A. Of course, it's on our side of the plywood barrier, and it's a 75-watt bulb. The doctors and nurses here are mostly short-term volunteers, and they are excited to be here, even at 9:51 PM. It reminds me of summer camp--I smell of DEET, I'm sweating profusely, and as usual, I'm the only one who wants to sleep.

Actually, David wants to sleep. He's here with me, still, trying to get comfortable in an armchair that looks more like a torture device. But our door squeaks, and someone is singing outside and the fan got turned off.

So here I am, the "blan" in Bed 9B. Sitting up, listening. And, like my son, I know at some point, sleep will overtake me...and tomorrow, my recovery begins.

Thanks for your prayers for an excellent surgery tomorrow and a speedy recovery.

1 comment:

  1. We are praying for you, Christine...