Iowan: 'Haiti gets into your blood'

As a pharmacist in Mount Pleasant, Beth Fisher knew how to prepare her prescriptions and keep her stock organized.

As an EMT and volunteer firefighter in Mount Vernon, Mehrdad Zarifkar was used to late night calls for rollover crashes and house fires.

But in their eight days in Haiti, both Fisher and Zarifkar had to learn how to do so much more with so much less.

“We needed more of everything,” Zarifkar said. “Especially narcotics, what I would have given for a Vicodin for (these patients).”

Fisher, 43, and Zarifkar, 22, are just two of the many Iowans who have gone to help Iowa City physician Chris Buresh provide medical attention to the earthquake-ravaged island.

Once the earthquake came across the news, both Fisher and Zarifkar said they knew they had to go. But they didn't really know what they were getting into until they reached the island.

On Feb. 8, they reached Port-Au-Prince from the Dominican Republic on an old bus driving on barely-passable roads.

“We had the luxury of slowly getting assimilated into it,” Zarifkar said. “And the first thing you notice is the poverty. You're struck by it the moment you cross the border.”

As they rumbled farther and farther into Haiti, Zarifkar watched the size and scope of the quake develop from scattered ruins in the countryside to sprawling tent cities and entire blocks of rubble where buildings used to stand.

Unfortunately, there was no time to take in the catastrophe.

“There was no time to adjust in Haiti. There was too much to do,” Fisher said. “Coming back and readjusting to life here, that was the biggest struggle.”

For eight days they worked from sun-up to sun-down in 100 degree heat and 100 percent humidity at a makeshift hospital, which had a kitchen table for an operating table, in Leogane, a small city 20 miles outside of Port-Au-Prince.

Lines formed out the door every morning for trauma treatment, but more often, patients had basic medical needs they couldn't get care for anywhere else. With little electricity and virtually no sanitation, malaria, diarrhea and other diseases are now on the upsurge and will likely worsen once the rainy season starts.

“We had to discharge people two hours after their surgery with virtually no anesthetic, just a baggie of Tylenol they had to take on their walk home,” Fisher said. “And they thank you then they hug you and you feel so bad ... because all you can give them is Tylenol.”

While Fisher tried to scrounge for basic medicine and supplies, Zarifkar assisted with skin grafts and the cleaning of wounds.

“It pushed our comfort zones ... the first kid coming in for stitches removal was screaming and kicking, the mom was traumatized and it was my job to hold the kid down,” Zarifkar recalled. “But the two lacerations opened back up, so we had to put the stitches back in, without anything more than Tylenol.”

When day gave way to night, the volunteers went to the roof of a nearby facility for a few beers or sodas and looked over what was left of Leogane.

“The Leogane Social Club,” Zarifkar called it. “We could hang out and blow off steam ... but you're so exhausted that once you go lie down you go right to sleep.”

After their eight days, Fisher, Zarifkar, and the rest of their group had to leave. But they didn't want to.

“Haiti gets in your blood,” Fisher said. “I'd be there now if I could be.”

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