We are back. Ten days ago we all embarked on an incredible journey to do some incredible things. Although we succeeded in many ways, this is no time for pats on the back or congratulatory high-fives. We all return home with a terrible nagging sense that there is so much more to do.  Ken began designing proposals for future efforts and sending emails out as early as Saturday morning, while I received a panicked voicemail from Daiana Saturday night, "Did we leave too soon?". David and I spent time between his cases today discussing what our next steps in Haiti should look like.

It is now our responsibility to take the observations made during those eight days and distill them into a plan for the future. What role do we want to play during this tragically historic moment in Haitian history? What will our relationship with Haiti look like next week? a month from today?  a year from today?

Unlike our fearless leader, Fritz, I did not have access to email or the internet while in Haiti. As a result all my thoughts and observations on the trip were recorded the good old-fashioned way: in a journal. Now that we must look back, I find myself leafing through that journal, compelled to share some of my experiences, as a woman, as a Haitian-American and as a physician.

1/22/10

We are here. Its been 11 years since I was last in Haiti. I traveled in 1999 for Carnavale - I have such vivid memories of carefree celebration - so different from now. Prior to 2000 my travel to Haiti was fairly regular - at least once yearly - occasionally for volunteer work in Hospitals and clinics, mostly for fun. I was born in the US to fanatical parents that felt it their duty to instill in their children "Haitian Pride". I have always had family and friends to visit which served as a great excuse to take the 4 hour plane ride out of JFK, but frankly my trips to Haiti were much more than just social jaunts. I felt overwhelmingly grounded when I was in Haiti - plugged into my family and history in a way I never could be in the States. There is something about being surrounded by your parents' spoken language that is transformative. I loved going to Haiti...

On 1/12/10 I was on my way out of the hospital when my husband told me about the earthquake. He had not heard yet from my parents or his Father. We didn't understand the gravity of what had occurred until hours later. We spent the next several days trying to contact family, hearing news of those who were fortunate and those who were not, watching gruesome footage still in disbelief. My parents were Ok, and so were my uncles...eventually we received word from my Father-in-Law...then we began planning the trip....

So now we are here. Its dark out, and I haven't seen the city - all the better, I think. My colleagues comment about the smells, but all I smell is Port-au-Prince. "When the level of destruction hits me," I think to myself," I'm going to lose it...but not now. Now I'm OK." I speak to our driver and ask questions about the general state of things. "We've been sent back to zero and have to start once again from there," he says in Kreyol. "I estimate that after all of the injuries and the amputations 40% of Haitians will be disabled. What in the world are they going to do now? Haiti is no place for someone disabled." I nod in agreement and sit back. After 206 years of independence "zero" is a terrible place to start...