Dr. Henry Frissora, Former Shore Country Day School parent (Giules '10, Alessandra '06) and Board of 
Trustee member. Hear Dr. Frissora and Sam Byrne, President of the Board of Trustees at Brookwood School, speak about their experiences in Haiti at the inaugural Shore Speaker Series event on February 9, 2011.
We were screaming down the Windward Passage at nearly twenty knots when three deafening bangs shook the deck and the eighty-one foot maxi-boat Captivity came to a sudden halt. The twenty-man crew scrambled to cut the buckled carbon fiber mast off the boat and then prepared for an unplanned voyage to the closest safe harbor. Thirty miles to the west, the dim lights of Guantanamo Bay (Gitmo) beckoned, while to the east, an equal distance away, lay the dark, barren, shores of Haiti, our impoverished neighbor, but with no visible port. Our race from Miami to Montego Bay now prematurely over, we limped into Gitmo, our spirits intact to race another day. The dark images of Haiti, however, lingered on my radar screen until a night in January nearly three years later when a devastating earthquake brought her into the forefront of world news.
Shortly after the earthquake hit, many in our local medical community were at a loss about what they could do to help. The press was abuzz with gruesome stories of surgeons performing amputations en masse under mango trees, using hacksaws and no more than an aspirin for anesthesia. Though some foreign medical crews began arriving in Port-au-Prince, they were helpless given the devastation of what little infrastructure had existed in the city before the earthquake hit. All government buildings, the Nursing School, and most hospitals and roadways had been demolished, and nearly 300,000 people lost their lives.
Almost immediately, Sam Byrne, the sailing captain from our aborted race three years earlier, began sponsoring private air relief flights to and from Haiti, piloted by Peter Simpson, an old high school friend. Peter had just flown Ric Bonnel, an American doctor, to Miami with a critically injured Haitian child in need of life saving care, and Ric had asked Peter if he knew of any medical teams that might be interested in helping to staff the Pierre Payen Hospital, a small facility just up the coast from Port au Prince. The hospital, founded by an American surgeon named Dr. Victor Binkley in the 1970’s, is a small mission-based hospital with a clinic and single operating room, and somehow, the facility had survived the earthquake. Ric had been in the area working at an orphanage when the earthquake struck, and he had helped to convert the compound into a major disaster relief center to provide surgery with anesthesia and intra-operative x-rays for earthquake victims. The hospital now desperately needed medical teams to volunteer for one or two week stints. Ric turned to Sam who began contacting friends in the medical field, many of whom had sailed with him, and within one day, our team, Ekip Uit or Team Eight, came together and made a commitment to do our part. The strong friendships and sense of teamwork that for many of us on the team had been forged at sea enabled us to mobilize rapidly and to enlist massive community support.
Our group included our sailing team’s anesthesiologist, the Boston Celtics’ orthopedic surgeon, a newly trained pediatric emergency specialist, a gifted plastic surgeon, nurse anesthetists and operating room and pediatric and myself, serving as surgeon and team leader. (Ultimately, support from our medical community was so overwhelming that we were able to staff a second team headed by another of our orthopedic colleagues.) Each member of our team shared a common desire to help our poorest neighbor, a country where much of the population’s only access to medical care before the earthquake hit had been Voodoo medicine, and we knew that we would be working in adverse situations with limited supplies in the midst of disease that we had never before encountered. As a team, we embraced the importance of serving without ego and with the attitude that each of us would take on all tasks, no matter how menial, in order to help save lives.
We were instructed to procure our own medical equipment and supplies, and after making hundreds of phone calls and sending countless emails, we were able to assess the situation at Pierre Payen and gather the surgical supplies, anesthetics, medications, and x-ray equipment that we would need. Wherever we turned, our community at large was willing to help. Every department we approached at Beverly Hospital and the New England Baptist Hospital offered support in the form of medications, testing equipment and other supplies. Beverly Hospital’s Evelyn Lilly Lutz Foundation pledged financial support for our nursing crew, while countless private donors opened their purses to help. The Travel Clinic at Beverly Hospital Danvers worked overtime to immunize the medical crews, and Lyon’s Ambulance donated a stretcher. Colleagues in the emergency room and both the intensive care and infectious disease units at the two hospitals even pledged twenty-four hour availability to back us up if we had any complicated medical questions. Orthopedic and surgical companies donated hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of supplies for our adopted hospital, and Dr. Rob McLaughlin of Beverly Hospital sent down a portable C-Arm machine, an X-ray image intensifier, for the operating room.
At a dinner meeting shortly before our departure, each team member rose to describe what his or her role and responsibilities would be once we arrived in Haiti, and the enthusiasm was palpable. Up until then, Captain Sam had firmly believed that he would be of more value to the team by remaining at home and generating income to support our work, but that night, caught up in the passion felt by each member of the team, Sam, rose and said, “I’m in!” With those words, our modest medical relief effort transformed into what would become a massive community airlift to help the people of Haiti.
Our original plan had been to travel to Haiti via an efficient, agile, turboprop Pilatus plane that could carry seven passengers and a very modest cargo, but within hours of our dinner meeting, Sam managed to procure for our use the 737-sized Airbus jet owned by Dow Chemical, and Exxon agreed to supply the fuel. We now had the capability not only to transport our medical supplies and team, but thousands of pounds of necessities for the people of Haiti. In an effort led by Tracey Byrne, Sam’s wife, students at area schools including Brookwood, Shore Country Day, Glen Urquhart, and the Manchester Public Schools joined forces with countless local residents, including many Beverly Hospital employees, to collect clothing, rain gear, tents, crutches, cell phones, solar chargers, and other items for us to deliver to Haiti. Through her radiology contacts at Anna Jacques Hospital, my wife Audrey was able to procure two modern ultrasound machines for us, and Sam and Tracey selflessly volunteered their home to be our processing center where legions of volunteers delivered, cleaned, folded, and vacuum packed truckload after truckload of supplies.
In addition to transporting our medical team and all of the donations we had received, the Airbus jet would also carry four non-medical people, including Sam. At the time, no one could imagine just how invaluable these four team members would be. Sam’s logistical, financial, and political savvy would help us to negotiate the airlift into a country lacking infrastructure and any government leadership. Paul, a former state police special force detective, would assure our safety and security and arrange our ground transportation in a country where violent crime was prevalent, in part because thousands of convicted criminals had escaped from jails after the earthquake had struck. Dexter, a builder, would become our fix-it guy whose levelheaded composure would help to keep us safe as we traveled the ramshackle, hostile, and crowded streets of Port-au-Prince. Finally, Duane, a communications engineer dubbed “Radar” by the team, would be the one to help install a donated Wi-Fi system for the entire hospital compound and to set up computers to help us manage our patients and supplies. Imagine our excitement when we learned, too, that after dropping off our team and supplies, our Airbus would carry forty-two orphaned Haitian children accompanied by several relief workers to Miami where the children would begin life anew with eagerly awaiting adoptive families. After a week of nonstop preparations, our team was finally sitting on board the Airbus at Hanscom Field. Seats not occupied by team members were stacked with supplies, and local television stations covered the launch of Airlift Haiti. We were off!
Upon arrival in Port-au-Prince, we disembarked and immediately began loading truck after truck with supplies destined for Pierre Payen, pausing only to wave teary-eyed as the forty-two Haitian orphans, many bandaged and maimed, boarded the jet in the arms of our volunteer flight crew. Our caravan then set off through the foul, dusty streets of Port-au-Prince, a city lined with rubble-covered open graves, tent cities on median strips, and throngs of people with vacuous stares milling about. We made our way along the coast to the Pierre Payen Hospital compound where interpreters and cooks at the compound’s guesthouse greeted us. We unloaded the supplies in the dark, and then Dr. Tim Pratt, a visiting resident doctor, introduced us to our patients. Meanwhile, our non-medical crew and our anesthesiologist worked hard to repair complex anesthesia equipment and to learn how to operate the autoclaves in order to sterilize equipment. Finally, we all called it a day and headed to our six cot rooms to try and get some sleep.
The next morning, we were awakened before sunrise by the sounds of angry roosters, braying donkeys, yelping stray dogs and roaring trucks and tip-taps, colorful Haitian busses, as they barreled up the coast. After taking cold showers for lack of any hot water and donning blue scrubs, we met in the breakfast room and began converting the space into Command Central, by setting up x-ray view boxes, a white patient tracking board, and Internet access. Suddenly, a woman with children in her arms and by her side burst into the room and announced, “Hi! I’m Annie! They call me the bipolar Mother Teresa with a rowing machine!” Initially taken aback, we would come to depend on Annie, a Midwestern blonde with boundless energy, to help us navigate the complicated social structure of post-quake Haiti. Within moments of her arrival, she gathered the entire medical team and led us in an ecumenical prayer, referring to God “the most awesome physician”. We learned that Annie ran an orphanage down the road, caring for babies and children severely maimed, congenitally deformed, or emotionally labile. In the days ahead, Annie would punctuate our stay with frequent prayers, often walking right into the operating room in the middle of a case. Annie was somehow able to inspire each member of our medical team, regardless of anyone’s religious beliefs or convictions. Not only was Annie a spiritual presence in our midst, but she also was invaluable in referring patients from Port-au-Prince to us and in arranging their transport to and from the hospital, all by word of mouth, because ironically, our little mission hospital had now become a go-to facility for patients requiring complicated surgery in a sterile setting.
One huge challenge our team faced occurred when running water was cut off to our hospital because road crews had accidentally dug through the pipe connecting to the main well. As a result, all water had to be transported in buckets by hand. Conditions were filthy, and the air was noxious. Miraculously, we were able to meet this challenge head on the next day when our team ventured into Port-au-Prince to transport a critically ill patient needing dialysis. Our “ambulance” was an open back truck used for ice deliveries in the early morning and transformed to a moving critical care unit by ten. Driving in stop and go traffic through the city’s busy streets, we were barraged by hordes of people trying to push their way inside the vehicle. After collecting patients from various hospitals and clinics, we found our way to the Mennonite compound to speak to the folks who had drilled the well two weeks before. In a friendly but forceful way, our team managed to coax them into giving us a new pump and conduit, and by the next morning, Dexter had worked his magic so that we had clean running water at the hospital. Now Sam and his crew, with their “no job too small” mantra, attacked the hospital in full surgical regalia, and using mops, pressure washers, hoses and Clorox flown in that day by Peter, they were able to create a much needed sterile environment in the hospital.
Our surgical patients, so sincere and appreciative, were a fascinating mix of people suffering from post-quake trauma or advanced, untreated chronic disease. Our orthopod Brian had his hands full with poorly set fractures that required plating and correction, the cleaning of infected bones, and the repair of acute open fractures. Others treated quake victims who had developed large ulcers and needed reconstructive surgery requiring the moving of muscle and skin, repaired partially healed but unset jaw fractures, and corrected hand deformities. I kept busy operating on patients with advanced tumors of the neck, breast, and uterus and giant hernias and wounds requiring skin grafting. The surgeons often worked together, learning about our each other’s special techniques, and our anesthesia crew and our sole scrub nurse worked tirelessly so that we could have two cases going at a time. Our pediatric and non-surgical medical team members collaborated with our Haitian nurses and interpreters to care for patients with wounds, to dispense medication, to discuss nutrition, and to lift the spirits of so many people whose lives had been devastated by the quake, and they also kept busy running our central supply room. Even with limited equipment, no preoperative CAT scans, minimal laboratories or culture studies, and frequent power outages, we all worked together, persevered, and found great personal satisfaction in what we were doing.
By the second week’s end, our team of medical and non-medical volunteers, along with our Haitian co-workers, had performed over seventy operations and had cared for hundreds of patients. We had pushed ourselves beyond our comfort zone, working in an environment that lacked the luxuries of our American hospital settings, but we came away knowing that by working together and putting our fears aside, we were able to build community among ourselves and reach out to serve some of the poorest of the poor. Just as each member of our sailing team three years ago on that dark and fateful night knew that every person on board was a necessary part of a whole, so, too, was each member of this team a crucial member of the community we built. We left Haiti realizing that no matter where we find ourselves – at home with our families, in our schools, in our towns, or even on a troubled island hoping to lend a helping hand, we are surrounded by opportunities to make a difference., and when we say “yes” to these opportunities, we always seem to receive so much more than we give.
