After the fated mango harvest of a single tree, Crash didn't give the donated shot of Promethazine a chance to work, because, in her misery, she wanted to take as many doses as possible of anything that promised relief.
Having been told by the generous pharmacist that it was okay to take a second shot, which Crash didn't have, 4 hours after the first, Dee contacted a friend that lives near a pharmacy about 30 minutes from where they live. The pharmacy, by the grace of God, had Promethazine, but in one big bottle and no individual doses. The only solution to this problem was to open a syringe, take out a dose of the shot and send the open syringe on a tap tap Crash. So it was done.
When the opened and unlabeled syringe arrived, Crash had to wait yet another 30 or 40 minutes while her nurse, Monique, called the pharmacy to verify that the syringe contained none other than Promethazine. The pharmacist gave her guarantee, whatever THAT is, that it was the right medicine that they were about to inject into Crash. On faith, they did so and had to wait until the next morning to repeat the process.
In the morning, with no changes having occurred, Dee sent for another opened and unlabeled syringe to be brought. But there was a different pharmacist at the pharmacy that morning than was there the night before. This pharmacist insisted that the price they paid the previous night was incorrect and that they would have to pay double for it today. With an amused and understanding chuckle (because that happens a lot in Haiti), the double price was paid and the medicine brought.
After 3 shots and still worsening reactions, Crash nearly paid to have her plane ticket changed to that very day to go to America where this problem could be quickly solved, but decided to wait another day. During that day, her mom called and suggested taking a steroid to help it out. And by some more of God's grace, Dee found 5 steroid pills in a first aid kit which Crash, not sure about but totally desperate to find relief, took all at once at the suggestion of the bottle containing the pills.
She went to sleep hoping for the best, which is exactly what came piece by piece over the next week.
Crash woke up the next morning with a less-swollen face, which is the best improvement anyone had seen thus far. The day after that it looked almost its normal size. The rash persisted everywhere, but the swelling was going down and Crash could begin to move her mouth, talk more clearly and even smile a little in another day or so.
The rash went away very, very slowly and, as unpleasant as this may be, caused her face to crack and peel as it departed. The rash on her arms and chest and ears took much longer to calm down and is still irritating and itchy, but not so great a problem that she can't be thankful for this condition rather than her former one.
And let's not forget emotional damage. Crash can't so much as look at a mango without a certain terror encompassing her. She smelled some ripening mangoes in a depot and immediately ran away to wash her body, praying that the milk wasn't airborne or something. Another time, moving a playpen for the baby, a hanging mango bumped her on the head and she screamed, unhealthily afraid. Never before has a fruit drawn so much fear from a person, but she is recovering as best as can be expected.
She is thankful for those who prayed so fervently for her recovery and hopes never to encounter such a fruity disaster as this one ever again.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
Story Time
Once upon a time under a mango tree, a white girl decided to be a part of the mango harvest (and by harvest, I only mean one tree in our yard) in Haiti. She isn't quite able to climb like the natives, so she decided to be the catcher of the picked mangoes on the ground while the natives threw them from above.
All was wonderful while she caught the mangoes and got all sticky from the syrupy milk that's in the mango vines. She and the natives played speed games to catch the mangoes and had a generally merry time.
After the fun, the white girl washed the sticky stuff off of her tanned skin and continued in normalcy until the next day, which was anything but normal...
After a night of restless sleep and seemingly random and unexplainable itching, the white girl, named Crash, got out of bed. After changing Lonia's diaper and wondering what that weird look on her face was, Crash exited her room and upon approaching her best friend, Dee, opened her mouth to ask a question. But Crash didn't have to speak, for the look on Dee's face had answered the question already.
"Whaaat in the wooooorld???" asked Dee.
"Yeah, I feel deformed, but from the look on your face, I must LOOK deformed as well," Crash answered.
"What happened?"
"I have no idea. What does it look like?"
"Not good," replied Dee, graciously understating the monster face Crash was wearing.
It turns out that after 23 years of life without a single allergic reaction to anything ever, Crash was allergic to the milk in the vines from which mangoes hang from the trees. Her face swelled up, barely leaving enough room for Crash to see beyond her protruding eyelids. She developed nasty rashes on every single solitary spot where the milk stuck to her, including both arms, both hands and all across her chest, and the same rash covered her swollen face.
Day one was nothing but questions, only a few of which were answered in the least. Pain was a general constant. Itching and burning came later that morning.
After a virtually sleepless night, which Dee joined Crash for just in case an emergency took place, day two was when monster face took its full swing. The resident nurse, Monique, went on a trip to find as many remedies for Crash as she could. She brought back, 3 creams, 2 lotions, 2 syrups and 1 box of pills.
None of them worked.
Two days passed.
Finally, Dee and her husband decided that Crash had been through enough, so they took her on a bumpy one and a half hour ride to a clinic. At the clinic, the guy in scrubs told them, after looking at the 3 creams, 2 lotions and box of pills, that they were using all the right medicines, they just needed to wait longer.
But after seeing the way Dee's face went savage and hostile as it did (and Crash's would have if she could have moved any facial muscles), the guy in scrubs said that a shot of Promethazine would help. But the clinic didn't have any.
Dee walked briskly across the street where there happened to be a hospital. She entered the hospital pharmacy, but Dee didn't have small enough change to buy the medicine (an ironically common problem in Haiti) so she waited 10 minutes while her temporary guide went to buy a coke to break the change, drink it and come back.
Upon his return, Dee asked for the exact shot she needed and the pharmacist said, "Oh, we don't have this."
"Of course, you don't," Dee said, dejected.
"But we do have individual doses in the operating room. But I can't sell that to you," the pharmacist replied.
"Then give it to me," Dee said with a sternness that cannot possibly be ignored.
And the pharmacist did just that.
Now, whether the shot worked or not, you will find out in the next edition of Story Time.
All was wonderful while she caught the mangoes and got all sticky from the syrupy milk that's in the mango vines. She and the natives played speed games to catch the mangoes and had a generally merry time.
After the fun, the white girl washed the sticky stuff off of her tanned skin and continued in normalcy until the next day, which was anything but normal...
After a night of restless sleep and seemingly random and unexplainable itching, the white girl, named Crash, got out of bed. After changing Lonia's diaper and wondering what that weird look on her face was, Crash exited her room and upon approaching her best friend, Dee, opened her mouth to ask a question. But Crash didn't have to speak, for the look on Dee's face had answered the question already.
"Whaaat in the wooooorld???" asked Dee.
"Yeah, I feel deformed, but from the look on your face, I must LOOK deformed as well," Crash answered.
"What happened?"
"I have no idea. What does it look like?"
"Not good," replied Dee, graciously understating the monster face Crash was wearing.
It turns out that after 23 years of life without a single allergic reaction to anything ever, Crash was allergic to the milk in the vines from which mangoes hang from the trees. Her face swelled up, barely leaving enough room for Crash to see beyond her protruding eyelids. She developed nasty rashes on every single solitary spot where the milk stuck to her, including both arms, both hands and all across her chest, and the same rash covered her swollen face.
Day one was nothing but questions, only a few of which were answered in the least. Pain was a general constant. Itching and burning came later that morning.
After a virtually sleepless night, which Dee joined Crash for just in case an emergency took place, day two was when monster face took its full swing. The resident nurse, Monique, went on a trip to find as many remedies for Crash as she could. She brought back, 3 creams, 2 lotions, 2 syrups and 1 box of pills.
None of them worked.
Two days passed.
Finally, Dee and her husband decided that Crash had been through enough, so they took her on a bumpy one and a half hour ride to a clinic. At the clinic, the guy in scrubs told them, after looking at the 3 creams, 2 lotions and box of pills, that they were using all the right medicines, they just needed to wait longer.
But after seeing the way Dee's face went savage and hostile as it did (and Crash's would have if she could have moved any facial muscles), the guy in scrubs said that a shot of Promethazine would help. But the clinic didn't have any.
Dee walked briskly across the street where there happened to be a hospital. She entered the hospital pharmacy, but Dee didn't have small enough change to buy the medicine (an ironically common problem in Haiti) so she waited 10 minutes while her temporary guide went to buy a coke to break the change, drink it and come back.
Upon his return, Dee asked for the exact shot she needed and the pharmacist said, "Oh, we don't have this."
"Of course, you don't," Dee said, dejected.
"But we do have individual doses in the operating room. But I can't sell that to you," the pharmacist replied.
"Then give it to me," Dee said with a sternness that cannot possibly be ignored.
And the pharmacist did just that.
Now, whether the shot worked or not, you will find out in the next edition of Story Time.
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