Monose's 'Pocket Full of Miracles'

My sister has asked me to tell you of my dear Haitian friend and sister in Christ, whose name is Monose.  There's much to tell, and I'll try to do my best to tell it here.

Monose is a Haitian "nurse" on the island of La Gonave. I say "nurse" in quotations because where they lack some of the training of stateside nurses, and could never practice nursing here, they excel in other areas by being able to deliver babies, suture, diagnose and prescribe for simple diseases, unlike our stateside RN's --  and most all trained by the missionary staff.

Now, I couldn't say for sure when I first met her, I can only say when I first became aware of her.  It was my second short term trip to Haiti in 1988, and I didn't know any of the Haitian staff by name or very well at all.  Not knowing the language makes it so difficult to learn those little facts that set people apart in your memory  when you're meeting 100+  people in the space of a month's time.  I didn't know her name, I didn't know who she was, really nothing about her.  Then, my second visit to the country, I was walking across the hospital compound when I heard a small yell and was suddenly nearly knocked over by a woman throwing herself in my arms in a tight embrace, and saying something in Creole in my ear.  The missionary said, "She is so sweet.  This is Monose, one of our nurses.  She's saying how happy she is to see you again, that you didn't forget them," and my throat choked up, closed with tears.  Though I did love the times I spent in Haiti, and enjoyed the Haitian people so much, most of the time I DID forget them, didn't pray for them, couldn't even remember this woman who was so grateful for my return.  I returned her embrace warmly, but had no words.  The other missionary said some words to Monose, and with a sweet smile, she went on her way.

Years later, I went on the mission field for what I hoped would be a lifetime, and Monose became a dear friend.  We would have long talks, and she was one person of a couple Haitians that I could trust to really "tell me like it is" if I was having trouble in my cross-cultural relationships with the Haitians. Met Rousevel Michel was another, though Monose was always biased to my side. Met Rous, on the other hand, never hesitated to tell me what a hot-head I could be!  Bless them both!!  I really needed her support and his gentle and wise words of reproach!

Over the years, as I knew Monose, she got married to Met Harold (Met = teacher and is a title) and so, formally, became Madame Harold. Haitians would traditionally, and for formality's sake, take not only their husband's last name, as we usually do, but their first as well.  But Madame Harold was still Monose to me.  She had a son, and later, a daughter -- but by the time she had her daughter, health reasons had called me off the mission field.  I still miss her terribly.

Now where I served as a missionary, and where Monose lives, is a large island in the bay of Haiti off the coast of Port-au-Prince.  It is called La Gonave.  When I was there it was especially primitive. Our water ran by gravity by pipes from high in the mountains to our homes and to the village wells, but had to be boiled or treated before used.  Our only electricity was by our own generators, and our stoves and fridges ran on propane.  No phones.  No internet.  No TV.  It was, in many ways, idyllic, in that sense, if it wasn't so hot!  No fans, you see, never any AC. Mail came by plane to Port-Au-Prince and then to us by boat about once a month.

Our small 34 bed hospital served the island of 100,000.  We had the hospital, lab (microscope, a centrifuge, limited lab tests, no chemistries), clinic, one operating room, an x-ray machine that looked to me from WWII until Samaritan's Purse got us a new one and built a building to store it!  Complicated cases had to go by boat across 12 miles of sea, then by bus 2 hours to get to Port-au-Prince if they had really serious problems, or across the sea to St. Marc and another small hospital that had a surgeon sometimes.  But we would have surgical teams from the States come and do non-urgent surgeries we'd saved up for them, and our pediatrician, Marilyn, learned how to do C-Sections because so many women died trying to get to a hospital from La Gonave when they needed one.  Monose was one of our staff trained in the operating room to assist in these surgeries.  She's a good woman.

After I left the mission field, in 1998 I believe it was, a surgical team from Indiana was visiting our hospital in on La Gonave.  As I understand it, the day the team was leaving for home in the US, Monose woke that morning to find a lump on her breast. With fear and trembling, she went to the surgical team.  Prayerfully, the team removed the lump that very day, as transportation waited for them, to take them from the island to return them to home.  The tissue was placed in a proper medium for transport and the team went home with their precious cargo and Monose's hopes for good news.

The pathology report came back:  breast cancer.  Monose, in Haiti, limited resources, seemingly no options, faced what in that country is usually a death sentence.  To those of us who loved her, it was a terrible shock.  But God was at work in the hearts of those in the surgical team, who loved Haiti, and still do, who are still active in that country, in that hospital, on La Gonave.

First, Steve and Diane F. opened their home to Monose for as long as she would need to be there.  They are both physicians, and through their work, and the workings of their friends and friends of Haiti, a hospital in Indianapolis donated the operating room time and her room;  the anesthesiologist donated his time, the surgeon donated HIS time -- everyone wanted to be a part of helping Monose live!  I contacted the mission headquarters and found out they needed a translator, as Monose speaks no English, and they accepted me as a volunteer to go and be translator. I would stay with Steve and Diane and their family with Monose, to help care for her.  Of course, I had just started a job, had no vacation time -- but my employer decided to pay me for the time anyway -- more answers to prayer! Dear and loving friends of mine gave me their precious frequent flyer miles to make the trip, and money to give to Monose for whatever need she might have.

Now -- Monose would be flying by way of  Florida, CONNECTING IN O'HARE, of all places, then to Indianapolis.  Alone.  She had never been out of Haiti. Never been on a plane.  Never in a big city.  Not speaking English.  I thought and thought.  Then remembered Christine's sister in Chicago!  Sure enough, when Monose landed in Chicago, there was Katherine, supplied with Haitian pharases, to meet her and get her on the next plane!  Kathy even found a guy who spoke the language to help, if I remember right, to explain a flight delay.  What are the odds??  Pretty good, if God is in control!  I asked Monose, later, about that flight.  One, she was too frightened to eat, and people kept trying to feed her!  Second, she felt flying in a plane was OK as long as she kept her eyes inside the "little house" of the plane.  If she looked out the window at the clouds and distant sea -- well, it was better to just keep looking inside the "little house"!

At last Monose and I met in Indianapolis, and I stayed with her through her surgery and her initial recovery.  It was wonderful to see her, and her surgery went so well.  We had a great time later, too, once she started feeling better, as we watched two movies together on TV, and I translated simultaneously as we watched.  The first, "The Fantastic Voyage" where they travel through the human body in a mini space ship, she thought ridiculous, but I thought she might like because of her knowledge of medicine.  But then we saw "Cool Runnings", about the Jamaican Olympic Bobsled team, with John Candy, and she thoroughly enjoyed that one. We did some shopping, with money people in my church had sent her, so she could buy gifts to take to her family, and she bought herself some clothing so she would feel as if she fit in more.

I took her to her follow up doctor appointments, and, oh, all the good reports! We talked and talked, and were sad when it was time to say good by.  We both knew we might not see each other again, because I didn't know if I'd ever get back to Haiti again.  We prayed together and I cried on the plane.  Found out later she cried all the way home from the airport after dropping me off.

She's not much for writing letters, even when I do write.  Just not something she ever learned to do, so we don't really write.  But I know that at any time we could get together and it would be as if no time passed.

I saw her again, in 2008, 10 years after her surgery, and she looked great.  She got her miracle, thanks to God and all those who helped make it happen.  The cancer has never come back!  When I saw her, it was like 1988 all over again, me in the hospital yard and suddenly nearly being knocked off my feet by a woman throwing herself into my arms.  Monose.

Of course, this time I understood the words.