Permanente and the Tsunami Relief Efforts--One Year Later--The Volunteers' Stories: A Journal

Abstract

A team of three doctors, we were part of the initial humanitarian response sent by our colleagues at KP to a remote refugee camp for the villagers from Mankerny, where aid had only just begun to trickle in. We set up our mobile medical clinic with a few scavenged chairs and tables, and the lines of patients began to form. Toward midday, the line was interrupted by a small child's request for the doctors to visit her 18-year-old sister who, the night before, had delivered a seemingly healthy baby at 36 weeks. The family had heard that an American pediatrician was in the camp and they hoped that we would come to check the newborn. The young girl led us down a dusty footpath, until we crossed the boundary between the makeshift tent camp and the neighboring village. The village's palm frond fences marked the borders between thatched huts, and we could see what life must have looked like in better times. Finally, we reached a small, tidy compound of huts. By this time, a shy and inquisitive crowd, made up of three generations of the young girl's family, had joined us. Among the crowd was the midwife who had delivered the baby. Reportedly 80 years old, she was lithe and nimble and moved with the grace of a ballerina. She invited us into the compound and explained, with obvious pride, that this new baby was the fourth generation of this family that she had delivered. Drs Beekley and Meghani, Mankerny Camp. Photo by Regina Pietersen, RN. “How many children have you delivered?” We asked. “I don't know,” she replied “the wave took my journal, as well as all of my equipment, including my only pair of scissors.” She stated, with obvious pride and authority, “We cut the cord with a well-boiled kitchen knife.” With that explanation, she brought us to the door of the smallest of the shelters in the compound. Inside, legs outstretched, on a palm mat that was her only protection from the mud, sat the smiling young mother. Cradled in her lap, swaddled in worn, but freshly washed clothes, lay the small but perfectly formed child. With her new mother's pride tempered by maternal protectiveness, she gingerly undressed the infant for us to examine. Between two delicate pieces of cloth lay the umbilical cord, still thick and gelatinous, as clear evidence of the newness of this life. Tiny but perfect, covered in the dark hair of its preterm birth, the infant captivated all of us. The first grandchild, the first baby born since the tsunami overwhelmed their family, the first chance for true hope—the first source of true joy. Despite having attended hundreds of births, I had never felt such awe at the blessings of a healthy child, or such gratitude for having been invited to witness the wonder of it. As the day ended, we said our goodbyes and were escorted by the midwife and her young companion down the dusty paths to our mobile clinic. There, with gratitude once more expressed from all sides, we said our goodbyes. The senior member of our team rustled through the trunks of supplies that KP had sent with us and presented the midwife with a suture kit as a replacement for her lost scissors. Watching the midwife walk away, holding the precious and unexpected gift close, we all wished we could be at her next birth, to share in the experience, and to learn from her skill. That night our team quietly shared the wonders of the day. In the last few weeks, we had witnessed tremendous tragedy, suffering, struggles, dignity, pride, and now, joy. Sharing these life-altering events with the people of Sri Lanka was a precious gift. However much we accomplished during our medical mission, we felt as though we were the ones who had benefited the most. To quote a colleague, Randy Bergen, MD, “Seeing their strength has made me stronger. And being able, in a small way, to share their pain allows me to feel the good and bad of this world more intensely.” I have heard many colleagues say that doing humanitarian relief work always gave them back much more than they felt they had given to their patients. It is now my turn to say the same. Young girls at Vattuwan Displaced Person's Camp, Sri Lanka. Photo by Sarah Beekley, MD.