When a teenage prostitute falls pregnant, she’s unable to care for the severely challenged infant and abandons her into the care of a guardian angel. What happens next is unbelievable.
Rosalyn stood alone along a road in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Her feelings were an odd combination of resignation and hope. She was resigned to doing what she was doing because she had no other choice. So, when a million-dollar SUV pulled up and the man inside waved at her, Rosalyn straightened herself up and walked over to the car. When she reached the tinted window, the driver lowered it so they could negotiate. She was expecting her usual fee, the equivalent of $11. Instead, the man asked if he could spend the whole night with her. He offered her the equivalent of $100, and it made Rosalyn gasp. He wanted to take her out to dinner and then go back to his place. He said he would drop her off again first thing the next morning.
Rosalyn never went to a client’s home, but tonight was different. She had no money and was desperately hungry. Business was slow. Besides, the guy looked friendly enough. So, she did something she’d never done before. She shoved all her instincts to the back of her mind and hopped into the man’s car.
The guy was middle-aged, around 6 feet tall, well-built, and impeccably dressed. Silently, while saying a prayer for her own safety, she started believing that this was going to be a good evening. Dinner went well. The man had impeccable manners and treated her like a queen. However, once they were back at his home, things took a different turn. The man started making offensive racial comments and jokes, and he suddenly became handsy. Rosalyn’s sense of safety diminished, and she resigned herself to another joyless night.
Hours later, Rosalyn arrived home before the first light. A somber cloak of depression had settled around her shoulders. All she wanted to do was to crawl under a blanket. After hardly any sleep, anxiety joined her depression. The following morning, she was deeply afraid of the entire world around her, and the thought of putting her nose out the front door terrified her. There was no way she could work. Her roommate tucked her back into bed, told her to stay put, and whirled out the door to hit the streets.
In the United States, Sarah K was coming to the end of a few weeks of reprieve from the terrible conditions in Haiti. She had been a qualified medical doctor for 2 years now and had chosen to work where the need for medical care was desperate and doctors were few. Haitians were still struggling to recover completely from the catastrophic earthquake that devastated the capital in January 2010. Work was scarce; access to fresh water and sanitation was almost non-existent; people were poor, and above all, medical care for an embattled populace was inaccessible.
With this in mind, Sarah opened a small practice on a side street in Port-au-Prince. With the help of donors in the United States, she was able to offer her services free of charge. Needless to say, the patients queued at her front door from 6:00 in the morning until 8:00 in the evening. She worked 7 days a week with no breaks and no time off. She needed to recharge so she could throw her entire weight into her practice again when she returned to Haiti.
The next morning, her first patients were already waiting at the door when she opened. They were all prostitutes who normally came in for checkups first thing in the morning before heading out to apply their trade. Sarah spent her first 3 hours listening to the harrowing tales these girls told. Each of them got a cup of coffee and a sandwich to fortify them for the day, and after a hug and a few caring words, they headed out to make a meager living on the streets of Haiti’s capital.
Not far from Sarah’s clinic, Rosalyn’s condition was worsening. Her memories of the ordeal she suffered at the hands of the guy in the SUV circled in her mind at all hours. The moment she relaxed, her mind conjured up all the pictures, and it was as if she was reliving the horrible night in vivid Technicolor. Rosalyn didn’t dare fall asleep, and she couldn’t do anything about the memories, the dreams, the fear and anxiety, or the deep depression she experienced. She had no fight left in her, and when her roommate offered her some illicit substances to try and take the edge off, she didn’t have the strength to say no.
At 7 the next morning, Rosalyn walked into Sarah’s surgery. Her eyes were deep in her face and ringed with dark blotches; they were bloodshot, something that could be from drugs, a severe lack of sleep, or both. Her clothes were worn, and she had a dead look in her eyes. Sarah immediately felt a surge of empathy rise in her.
“I’ll have them make you a sandwich and a cup of coffee for when we’re done,” she said, but first, “Tell me what am I helping you with today?” The girl was lethargic and extremely anxious at the same time. Sarah suspected she was severely depressed. She was skin and bone, and her face was blotchy.
Rosalyn explained that she’d been vomiting non-stop. She said she was exhausted and urinated all the time.
“Are you on the streets?” Sarah asked as diplomatically as she could. The girl nodded.
“Are your periods regular?” Sarah asked. When she asked this question, Rosalyn first frowned, and then her eyes grew as wide as saucers. It was as if an unwanted reality hit home with the force of a tornado.
“I’m late,” the girl said with a quivering voice and eyes full of tears. “I didn’t realize it until now.”
This was delicate territory for Sarah to navigate. She needed to win the girl’s trust and then to keep it. It was crucial if she was pregnant and if the baby were to survive. As calmly as she could, Sarah said, “I think we should run a pregnancy test just to be sure.” She removed a home pregnancy test from its wrapper, took Rosalyn by the hand, and led her to the bathroom.
Five minutes later, she reappeared. Her eyes were red from crying and rubbing, and she shivered with fear. She handed the stick back to Sarah, who confirmed it was positive for Rosalyn. It felt as if the bottom had dropped from her world. First the mean guy in the SUV, then the depression, the drugs, and now the pregnancy. Her life was coming apart at the seams.
Above all, she simply didn’t have the means to take care of a baby. How could she, given what she did for a living? There were days when she couldn’t even feed herself. How was she going to keep an infant from starving? It was as if Sarah read her mind.
“I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” she said gently. Then she folded Rosalyn’s hand in hers. “I’m going to be with you every step of the way. If you do what I tell you, both you and your baby will be fine.”
Throughout her pregnancy, Sarah insisted Rosalyn see her once a week
. She was deeply concerned for the fetus. Although she’d skirted around the topic and never admitted to taking drugs, it was clear to Sarah that she was a user. This could bring so many complications to an already difficult pregnancy.
During every visit, Sarah offered to pay for Rosalyn’s rehab and even suggested another place to live. And each time, Rosalyn made promises, but she never kept any of them and only spiraled deeper and deeper into her depression.
The birth was complicated, and when Sarah saw the baby, she cringed. It was clear she suffered from hydrocephalus. This rare brain condition causes fluids to build up in the brain, and unfortunately, 99% of the infants born with hydrocephalus don’t make it past their first year.
As gently as she could, Sarah broke the news to Rosalyn. “I know you’re in a world of trouble,” she said softly, “and I know you don’t see a way out yet. But right now, you have to think about your baby. I want you to bring her to see me twice every week, on Mondays and Fridays.”
For the first few weeks, Rosalyn kept the standing appointments like clockwork. She was at Sarah’s door at 7:00 in the morning. Then she started slipping up, as sometimes she disappeared for 2 weeks at a time, and her own condition was deteriorating really fast.
Sarah’s biggest concern was for little NAA, as Rosalyn had named the little girl. She was waning as fast as her mother. She wasn’t getting the basic care she needed to survive and none of the specialized medical care she needed to make it past one year. There was really only one solution. Sarah had to get her specialized care in the United States. If she didn’t, NAA would die before she turned one year old, and the thought was too much for her to bear.
Sarah prepared carefully to break the news to Rosalyn. She had no idea how the young mother would respond to her suggestion to take the child to America for a while. She would either be grateful and see it as a way out, or she would completely break all contact with Sarah for even suggesting something like that.
When Rosalyn missed her and NAA’s Monday appointment, Sarah let it slip. But when they didn’t make the Friday appointment either, she took matters into her own hands. She’d managed to get Rosalyn’s address when she went to the maternity ward for NAA’s birth. She called a taxi, closed the surgery, and headed over to check on the two girls.
Upon entering the house, as Sarah staggered back in raw shock, NAA was home alone, lying amid a pile of trash. She was 11 months old now but weighed no more than 6 pounds. At least three of those pounds could be attributed to fluid buildup. She hardly responded when Sarah picked her up.
Desperate problems call for desperate measures, Sarah thought to herself, knowing that she was probably breaking a variety of laws. She took the baby with her when she left. She went straight to the Denita Rescue Center. She’d worked with them before and explained briefly the conditions in which she’d found NAA earlier, the mother’s challenges with drugs, and her inability to give the infant the care she needed.
A day later, she accompanied welfare officers on a home visit to Rosalyn’s residence. They found her on the couch. It was impossible to say whether she’d even noticed NAA’s absence. If she did, she didn’t let it show. She listlessly looked up at the welfare officers, then at Sarah, and when they told her they had removed NAA and taken her to a place of care, a look of relief spread across Rosalyn’s face.
“Will you take her?” she asked with a weak voice, looking straight at Sarah. Sarah was astounded. She’d always seen herself in the role of a doctor providing all the medical care NAA could ever need, but she’d never seen herself as a mother. Yet, right here and right now, everything was becoming frighteningly real.
Before she could stop herself, she nodded. “I want to take her to the United States to get a team of specialists to look at her. Do I have your permission to do that?” Rosalyn rose laboriously from the couch. She walked over to Sarah and hugged her tightly.
“Yes,” she said, “and please don’t bring her back. She’ll die here. In America, she has a chance to live.”
By the time the aircraft landed in Baltimore the following day, a team of specialists was already waiting. Sarah had briefed them on the phone, and everything was now a race against time to save the infant’s life. The first thing the team uncovered was that NAA had a condition known as hydranencephaly. It meant a significant portion of the infant’s brain was missing and had been replaced by spinal fluid. Mostly, this indicated the baby might have suffered a stroke in the womb. Rosalyn’s drug habit would have contributed to this condition.
Over the weeks that followed, NAA’s condition slowly started to improve. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot, but she was getting better. But she needed consistent medical care. Without it, the risk of fluid buildup remained a constant threat. The team tirelessly continued caring for her. She stabilized, and then, for the first time in her young life, she was declared relatively healthy.
Every day was still a battle for her life, though. Surgery upon surgery drained excess brain fluid. Intricate medical procedures were performed to prevent further buildup. For a long time, Sarah was worried that this poor baby would know nothing but hospitals all her life. But then, something remarkable happened. She underwent her second neurosurgery, which involved the implantation of a VP shunt. This operation marked a significant improvement in the quality of NAA’s life. Her head circumference reduced by nearly 2 inches, and she also lost 2 inches in height. In addition, she shed 5 lbs in fluid weight.
For both Sarah and NAA, things were undeniably looking up. Despite a challenging past and a bleak initial prognosis, the baby’s health was on the upswing. And when Sarah finally received the news that her adoption request had been approved, NAA’s future looked brighter than ever.
Today, NAA is a happy, thriving little girl with her adoptive mother in the United States. She doesn’t look sick or deformed anymore, and her quality of life has improved tremendously. Sarah decided against returning to Haiti simply because the care her daughter required was only available in America.
As much as she tried, she lost all contact with Rosalyn. She tried phoning and then asked a friend to pass by Rosalyn’s house, but the girl had moved without leaving a forwarding address. Every time Sarah says a prayer, she includes Rosalyn, even though she has no idea where Rosalyn is or whether she’s even still alive. The young girl with the terribly difficult life who blessed her with a daughter remains a part of Sarah’s heart.
