The Person Behind the Chart

For my first week or two in Haiti it was easy to hear about poor outcomes or great outcomes and shrug them off either way. I went through lots of charts for retrospective data for a summer research project. And no matter how many times I saw words TB or HIV positive it didn't phase me. I would write down in my data sheet that a patient died and no matter what the age - 10, 35, 72 - I continued on in the same manner I used for studying in medical school this year - memorize/ speed read through the lists of awful diseases and continue on. After all, time in medical school, like my time here in Haiti, is precious. So I planned to use it as efficiently as possible.

It's a lot harder though to rush through and treat a person sitting in front of you as merely a set of vitals, a disease to commit to memory, or a data entry point for a summer study. Last week in Les Anglais was wonderful because it gave me the opportunity to see the person behind the chart. I had the privilege to sit down with many patients and hear their stories. My interpreter, Julmis and I, went through sex education with each of the HIV negative patients because we believe that information is 1) empowering for patients and 2) a lot cheaper for the healthcare system here than a lifetime of ARV meds for a HIV + patient. Hearing patients responses to our educational questionnaire (the one that the wonderful Haitian nurses from HIC gave me) provided me with a lot of high and low points for my days.

I got to hear about how one girl refused to have any boyfriends or get married until after she completed school. She told Julmis and me: "I have a dream/ vision for myself. I am going to finish school, get a good job, and accomplish my goals. Then after that I can think about boys. For now I am focusing on me." Julmis and I started smiling and I wanted to shout out loud "You go girl!"

Sadly, this patient was followed by other more somber stories. Seeing teenage girls, who looked like little babies to me still, answer my question of - if their boyfriend, husband, or another man approached them and they didn't want to have sex with that individual, would they feel comfortable speaking up and say no - with their shy and sad "no" was heartbreaking. There was one little teenage girl I felt like picking up, putting in the back of our tap tap truck, and whisking away; letting her be mothered and grow up first before she had to face some of the awful realities of the situation she lives in.

But through the good and the bad, I loved that I got to be there with patients to hear their stories. Someone once told me that it's important for people to be able to share their stories because it validates them, gives dignity and shows they are important and that someone cares. I think this is very true. After all, the sweet older woman who suffered from malnutrition was no longer another data entry point. She is a woman who lost her husband a year ago and while she and her children are starving, she is still a proud and dainty enough woman to borrow a pink sharpie from someone and "paint her fingernails." I have never seen a bigger smile as when I and the other blan told her how beautiful her nails were. We exchanged hugs, I told her she was beautiful - she reminded me of my grandmother - well-kept and dignified no matter how bad of a situation she found herself in, and sent her on her way.

I was only able to truly make a difference in a handful of these patients' lives in Les Anglais. But it's my hope that after spending a week listening, educating, and advocating for, the patients there know they are no longer a set of vitals or diseases for me to mark down. They're real people that received care and attention from someone who will never forget their stories. From someone who is going to continue to try to work with them and slowly try to improve their situation one step at a time. From someone who will continue to remember that there is always a person behind each chart she reads.