"When the earthquake happened, I thought it was the end of the world," said Robinson Remedor, local director of the clinic. Within an hour, the clinic was swamped with more than 500 victims. Many had injuries too serious for the small primary-care facility to handle, so they were referred to other rescue sites in the city.
Remedor's 80-year-old father was killed in the quake. His mother and six siblings survived.
"It was a catastrophe," Remedor said, "But the living must eat. We can't rest without doing something."
Returning to the hotel, Dirk Parvus tried to figure out how to provide at least three hours of patient care before he and his children had to head back to Santo Domingo to catch a flight home.
"It would have to be just people with serious problems. People who needed bones set or wounds stitched."
Remedor and Bouquet shook their heads. Once word got out that a medical team had arrived, they would be overwhelmed with people with all kinds of problems - many not related to the earthquake.
"We thought there were people lying all over the place," Dirk Parvus said.
"But it's not the case," Bouquet said.
"Believe me, you don't see a lot of problems here, but they are in their homes."
In the end, they decided there was not enough time to do the clinic right.
"In any case, we really came to assess the situation," said Dirk Parvus. "We'll come back with doctors soon. I have 40 volunteers waiting to get on a plane."
As the men spoke, they were thronged by children. Barefoot. Runny-nosed. Boys with broken radio parts for toys. Girls with eyes like green cat's-eye marbles. Children with naked butts and muddy toes.
"Let's go and get you those supplies," Dirk Parvus said, and they climbed back in the car to fetch the bags up on the hill before the sun went down.
Contact staff writer Melissa Dribben at 215-854-2590 or mdribben@phillynews.com.
