|Hijinio and Holly with the boy|
A mother carried her son into the clinic today. The woman looked like she was in her late 50's and the boy looked to be around 12 years old. It's hard to judge age in Haiti, especially since some of the Haitians don't even keep track of how old they are. The son looked like he could have weighed as much as his mother, and he was crying uncontrollably. His knee was wrapped in a bandage. We learned that a bolder had fallen on the boy - more than 3 days ago. After the doctors examined him, they found that he had a broken femur.
I tried to put myself in that mother's place - seeing my son in agony, and knowing the only way to help him was to carry him God-only-knows how far and listen to his screams the entire way. Watching strange people do strange things to him. Getting some sense of relief when whatever the doctors gave to him finally calmed him so that he fell asleep.
I tried to put myself in the son's place. The searing pain of breaking biggest bone in your body. The wait. The pain getting worse, not better. Then having to be carried - with no support whatsoever for that leg - to strange looking "blancs" that poke and prod.
I cannot imagine.
The boy is being transported to a hospital. The leg will require surgery. Hopefully, we will get an update before we leave.
The perseverance of these people astounds me.
|Waiting for pharmacy|