Heal Thyself

"Physician, heal thyself"; and while I'm pulling out parables, how about "the cobbler's children have no shoes." No, I do not miss the irony that a therapist who purports to teach compassion fatigue and resilience has run herself into the ground. What would normally have been a small cold has reduced me to a sniveling, whining creature who has slept more hours than she's been awake the last several days. The fact that I flew to Charlottesville, bought a house and had a job interview in the midst of said cold-turned-sinus-infection seems to be "blips" of activity between "ugly Nyquil" sleep. Which reminds me: my apologies to the perfectly nice gentlemen beside me in 28B on the flight back to Denver. I'm pretty sure he thought I had Ebola, as he kept his scarf around his face most of the flight.

Oh my...did I just say I bought a house while drugged on Nyquil and deaf in one ear from infection? I'm going to rely on the knowledge that we had decided on this purchase prior to my illness and that my wobbly signature on the dotted line will be minor history in the overall story of my life. I guess while I'm working on apologies, I should send a "shout out" to Realtor Lee. Thanks, Lee, for pretending not to notice when I borrowed a large sum of Kleenex from the house on Monet Hill Lane. Hey...I'm buying their house, they can spare some Kleenex.

All joking aside, it proved to me in very real ways that we all have our limits. Sometimes those limits come up faster than what we would expect. If we aren't careful, they not only impact us, but those we love. Remember when I said the "cobbler's kids have no shoes?" As I was working with kids coming in from Haiti and interviewing for a position that would have me working with child abuse victims, I had completely forgotten that my middle son, Joe, was finishing his 1st grade unit on Mexico. The end celebration involved a Fiesta and Mexican market. Each child was to bring in 10 handmade crafts which they would trade with other children. On that day, I was out of town. Joe had no crafts to bring. Those of you who are parents know how awful that feels to know I let my son down...and how embarrassing it is to admit. But I admit it for two reasons: to make sure I am accountable and also to say that even with the best of intentions, we fail. We fall short of what we owe ourselves and we owe our children.

My Joe

I told Joe how sorry I was I didn't help him make crafts. He shrugged and said, "No biggie...me and Haley and Blake all shared stuff." Good to know kids find solutions to our own, adult failures. As for me, I'm learning some important lessons.

From Haiti, With Love

Walking through the terminal toward a waiting room full of expectant, adopting parents, I felt as if I have spent a week in the Miami International Airport, not 24 hours. Tired already and having the sneaking suspicion I would be up throughout the night and next day, I took a moment to reflect. In crisis work, I have been trained to have a bag packed and be ready to leave on a moments notice. Still, responding to a crisis call for the first time was a jolt of adrenaline and apprehension. I received the message to head to Miami to help with the care and transport of Haitian orphans last Wednesday at 11:30 am. I was on a plane by 3:30pm.

The original plan was that there would be three planes traveling into Haiti to transport orphans back to the US to their adoptive parents. One trip a day: fly in, board the children, fly home, reunite them with Moms and Dads. Clockwork. Except that words like “plan” and “clockwork” never apply in times of crisis and disaster. The situation was dynamic and details changed minute by minute. Through it all, the lead on the ground in Miami was also an adoptive mother whose husband was in Haiti with their two boys. I have a short list of women I consider to be Warrior Mothers and Tanya Ramsay is on that list. Emotions run high when so many precious lives are on the line. From time to time when it all got too much in the long hours of waiting, we would reach out to remind one another of our common goal: put those children in their parents loving arms.

As it turned out, I would be on the ground for only one of the planes coming out of Haiti. I had hoped to be on the transport team and get my feet on the ground in-country. This is where I learned another important lesson of crisis work: where you are most needed might not be the place you expected to be. I stayed on the ground in Miami with the parents as they waited at the charter airline ticket counter all night long.

Here was the amazing thing: I expected them to be beside themselves with worry and grief which would manifest itself in anger. After all, their children were in harms way. Even before the earthquake, they lived in a perilous country. Haiti was struggling: 80% of the population lives in poverty, nearly half does not have access to clean drinking water, and close to 3% has a positive HIV/AIDS status. 380,000 orphans are living in orphanages around Haiti and, sadly, many more orphans have been created in the last two weeks. Who would blame a parent if he or she were beside themselves in anguish as they waited for the safe return of their sons and daughters?

What I experienced was something very different than anguish or anger. The parents were patient, loving, excited, eager...and serene. That’s the best word I can put to it. Even as I write it, it seems implausible that serenity could exist in the midst of chaos and disaster. There was something in the air that night that I have yet to put my finger on. Some would say it was the presence of God providing comfort and peace. Some might say it was the power of synergy. Whatever it was, I experienced, in a most profound way, what I intellectually believed for years: people are resilient; they have the power to not only sustain, but embody their best selves in the moment they would be forgiven for being their worst.

As I sat with the parents throughout the night, my mind kept wandering to the scene that must have been going on in the plane and in customs with those 81 Haitian children. Their plane safely landed at 1am, but their journey was long from over. The children, along with the orphanage teachers, director and a slew of TSA agents, would spend the next 8 hours in customs. I know what flying with my children is like under ideal circumstances and it is trying at best. I ached for those children and for those who were taking care of them. As tired as I was, having not slept in nearly 24 hours at that point, I knew that my exhaustion could not compare to theirs.

Finally, at close to 9am in the morning, the announcement was made that the children were through customs. Parents were directed to a private meeting area where we would reunite them with their children. Dr. Michele Kelly and I, along with team members Ben Escobar, Allison Stone and many others, met the children and orphanage workers in the children’s waiting room. Many were exhausted and all were hungry and thirsty from their trip. There were children crying, but there were just as many children smiling and laughing. They seemed to know that they were home. We found our way to children and workers who seemed most in need of support.

I quickly spotted an amazing young woman who was working at the orphanage during the earthquake and had already made two trips in and out of Haiti delivering medical supplies and bringing home children. She was holding two young toddlers in her weary arms. I am still amazed by her strength which shone through the fatigue and shock in her eyes. She allowed me to take one of the little girls from her arms to lighten her load, if only just a little. This little one...about the age of my youngest son...clung to me for the better part of two hours as I continued to walk the room and help where I could. She clutched her bottle and rarely took her eyes off of mine. I could feel her relax as I carried her.

I have no doubt what our team did in that room was therapeutic, but it required no degree to perform the care. We soothed with gentle voice, wiped a tear, sang a song (oh, what beautiful song they taught us), gazed into questioning eyes and held a person in need. My reward at the end of that long, long 3 day journey was the experience of handing a child to his waiting mother’s arms. Words fail me.

Saturday morning I woke from my first full night’s sleep since Tuesday. I had the entire morning and much of the afternoon to myself before my flight back home to Denver. I found a corner of the airport to sit. Slowly, the world outside began to seep in. I could hear the Cuban music coming from a souvenir shop and the frustrated voices of cruisers with delayed flights home. Wavering between which world I was ready to join, I sat with an InStyle magazine in my lap, unopened.

Two Hands

Tonight there are parents all around the United States with children trapped in Haiti. Tonight there are parents sitting at their kitchen tables thinking about the child they have worked months and years to adopt and bring into their home. These parents could be kneeling by their bed right now, hands clasped, praying for the safety and strength of their little one. Tonight these parents might be clutching a picture of Johanna or Emmanuel. They will likely be remembering the last time they were in Haiti when they promised that little boy or little girl that Mommy and Daddy would return for them. I'm a mother myself. I know their worry must be unbearable. With any luck...and a lot of work on the part of people much more powerful than me...I will be traveling to help bring Haitian children home to the US to be with their adoptive families.

My official capacity for the trip will be as a trauma therapist caring for children until they can be reunited with their parents. But in my heart, I know what I will really be doing. I know that I will tap into my "Mommy" degree more so than my masters degree. And that is just fine by me. Wipe a face, comfort a little one in sickness, play a game, sing a song, bandage a hurt. Listen to a story. Allow a frightened one listen to the steady breath in my chest so she can too feel calm and safe. And in that, my degree and training as a therapist doesn't matter. My two hands matter. Keeping my heart open matters. Hope in the face of hopelessness matters. 

In the last week while this horror has been unfolding, I have been amazed by the power of action and activism. I have said before in this blog that I define activism by a willingness to DO and LEARN at the same time. Don't wait; stop simply "being aware" as my friends the Ponds say. There will be mistakes, mis-communication, frustration and false starts...but we learn and we do better

Therefore, my bag is packed and I am ready.  

CALL TO ACTION: Please contact President Obama at www.whitehouse.gov or 202-456-1111 (9-5 EST), asking him to sign an Executive Order to 1) establish a safe haven in Haiti for children in Haitian orphanages, and 2) allow the use of military personnel and assets to provide the security of children's travel anywhere but PAP airport to the US.

National Human Trafficking Awareness Day- 1/11/10

Today is National Human Trafficking Awareness Day. Up until last late last night I hadn't decided whether the timing of this day is unfortunate or a blessing for me. You see, I have been fire and brimstone about the issue of human trafficking for going on a year now. Late summer and fall were a whirlwind. I've attended movie screenings and panel discussions, traveled around the country to talk with leaders in the movement to learn as much as I can and done my small part in efforts to raise funds. At the same time, I've been trying to start a career that will keep me involved in humanitarian causes.

And now I'm pooped. Discouraged. I hit the proverbial runner's wall. I fell short on some goals, was disappointed at a few turns, and lost sight of what should be my next step. For a planner such as myself, it is this last bit that gives me the most worry. I give a lot of lip service to staying open to the adventure that life brings us. I have come to realize that I am all for adventure as long as I have control of the itinerary. I wonder what would happen if I simply let go of the white knuckle grip I have on determining the outcome of my future. Sounds downright un-American, doesn't it? It runs counter to the doctrine of manifest destiny, rugged individualism and Horatio Alger.

Right here is where the pill becomes too bitter to swallow. My very discomfort and angst at this position speaks to the overwhelming privilege I possess. I have the choice to rage against the machine or crawl into this rabbit hole I've existed in the last few days. "Choice" is an unknown concept to many women around the globe. I have been allotted the benefit to sit in my four bedroom home and bemoan that I'm over-educated and under-employed. I use the word "allotted" intentionally. This privilege is a portion assigned or given; it is not an earned freedom on my part. I have no special gift or quality above a woman in India or Yemen or Cambodia. The only difference is the happy chance that I was born in the United States of America.

Because I was born in the United States of America to middle class parents, I could rest assured that I would be educated, fed, clothed and loved. As a child, I would never be ripped from my mother's arms to work in a farm or factory far away. I could be confident that my virginity would not be sold to the elderly man down the street. I would never be forced to carry a machine gun at the age of 10 to fight in a genocidal war. . I would never have to face the torture and mutilation that would occur if I resisted any of these fates.

While I could comfort myself with the blessing of my birthright, I also know that the United States is not protected from the horrors of slavery. Tonight in downtown Denver there is a girl. This girl, like me, was born in the United States. Yet, she missed out on the privilege I enjoy. She is being bought and sold in the backroom of a massage parlor or on a dirty mattress of a run down motel. Perhaps she has forgotten what horrible turn of events forced her on this road. More than likely, she has long since given up believing in a way out.

My point might be difficult to find in the midst of my process, but here's what it comes down to: I know we all have our plates as full as we can handle and many of us feel we are barely getting by. The economy is horrible, relationships are hard and sometimes painful and the kids demand our attention. It is so much easier to go underground and look the other way. Today, however, I'm going to crawl out of my rabbit hole. I'm a bit thin-skinned and unsteady on my feet for the time being, but I'm going to step out today anyway and take action.

Can I ask you to do the same? No life commitment, no money, just one small action. Awareness is noble...action gets the job done. Here are some suggestions:
1) Call your local government officials. Ask them what they know about human trafficking in your area and how your city/ state is equipped to deal with the problem.
2) Choose to buy only fair trade coffee, chocolate or other products. It's not a salary issue...it's a slavery issue.
3) Ask your church, community group, PTA or other organization if they would be willing to host an information night about human trafficking. Many organizations such as Polaris Project and individuals such as myself can help facilitate discussions.

Take 15 minutes and do one thing. A good friend of mine has a saying: "If I can do, you can do it. If you can do it, I can do it."