Our neighbor, Aona, resting in front of our house with a 102 degree fever.
The medical exam room
The pharmacy
People have started coming to my house daily for blood pressure checks, bandages (i.e. a good basic clean technique Dial soap wash, and some neosporin), and carrying children that are coughing and wheezing. There is little I can do for them besides basic vital signs and dispensing some of the mass amounts of pharmaceuticals I brought for my own children.
Medical care here is scarce at best. There is a clinic in Roche-a-Bateau and a hospital in Port Salut each about 20-30 minutes from our village. Although this is not far, it is a world away for our community where there are no cars, no jobs and no income. Consequently people are left to their own remedies- boiling herbs, Voodou, resting, waiting, drawing crosses on their toes.
Last Thursday, we put Luc and Anna Ray to bed and all seemed well in the Almond household. About 2 hours into bedtime, Anna Ray began vomiting. She vomited all night long. As I lay with her, I began to understand a tiny fraction of the fears that people must have here. We also have no car, no phone for 911, and we are foreigners in this land. But, of course, we could and would pay for anything she might need.
I've had the opportunity to visit some clinics for a day while I've been here. One of the doctors I shadowed who does a mobile clinic saw 40 people with only a $5.00 stethoscope (note: no thermometer, no blood pressure cuff, no oto/opthalmascope), some Ibuprofen, antacids, 1 ampule of Ampicillin (he mixed this with water and then placed it in approx. 10 different patients eyes for infection), 4 vitamin B12 ampules for anemia, and 4 oral doses of ampicillin. Honestly, after that day I wasn't convinced that even I would pay the $1 US for that care.
It's amazing to me that somehow this whole island is still inhabited by people who are able to walk, run, laugh, and dance. But, it is and here we are.
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