We spoke to a Haiti hospital after Hurricane Matthew. This is what they want you to know.

On Oct. 4, 2016, Hurricane Matthew hit Haiti's southern peninsula.

Photo by Hector Retamal/AFP/Getty Images.

And as you may or may not have seen in the news, it was pretty bad.


The death toll has risen to over 800 people and might grow as officials continue to reach the worst affected areas, according to The Weather Channel. Tens of thousands of houses have been damaged, and the Haitian president has called the situation "catastrophic."

Halfway down that peninsula is St. Boniface Hospital, which provides affordable medical care to local Haitians.

St. Boniface is a pretty important part of the local Haitian community, and it paints an important picture of what happens to poorer countries when large weather patterns hit.

St. Boniface, before the storm. Photo from St. Boniface Haiti Foundation, used with permission.

St. Boniface Hospital is located in the community of Fond-des-Blancs, and it has been a local fixture since 1983. It's where people can go if they need surgery or are having a baby. Fond-des-Blancs is pretty small, with a population of about 500 people, mostly farmers, so St. Boniface is often the only place to get medical care.

Fortunately, the eye of Hurricane Matthew missed Fond-des-Blancs and the hospital itself.

According to Liz Schwartz, the media and communications manager for the St. Boniface Haiti Foundation, which runs the hospital, the eye of the storm crossed further west instead, out to the very tip of the peninsula.

That direct area suffered severe storm damage, and people are still having trouble getting there to find out what's going on and provide aid. Many parts of the west are currently only accessible by helicopter.

Sous Roche, one of the areas further west that got hit by the hurricane. Photo by Nicolas Garcia/AFP/Getty Images

But while Fond-des-Blancs was spared the most severe damage, it doesn't mean the people there emerged unscathed.

The community was still hit with severe rain and wind and there's been a lot of local damage to houses, roads, and bridges. The hospital itself is still up and running though, thanks to electrical generators.

The wind blew the roof off this school. Part of a church collapsed nearby and a lot of houses have been damaged too. Photo from St. Boniface Haiti Foundation, used with permission.

St. Boniface normally sees about 300-500 patients a day, says Schwartz, and they have seen some injuries, such as cuts, though there haven't actually been that many patients coming in.

While that might sound like great news, it actually illustrates one of the hospital's biggest worries.

The storm's left a lot of people pretty much stranded.

The rain and wind were so intense that Schwartz said staff saw floodwaters reach a 20-foot-tall bridge. Further away, the La Digue Bridge was overtaken, and it actually collapsed, cutting off the peninsula's only major thoroughfare to the mainland.

People at the site of La Digue. Photo by Hector Retamal/AFP/Getty Images.

The road conditions aren't much better than the bridges. Most of the local roads aren't paved; they're dirt or gravel. The rain's washed a lot of them out or littered them with debris.

"Pretty much what they're seeing is that they can't get anywhere," said Schwartz.

Photo from St. Boniface Haiti Foundation, used with permission.

When people are cut off, they can't get the medical attention they might need.

"There are communities that are completely cut off," said Schwartz. "We can't even get to them to see what condition they're in."

Both locals and hospital workers have been working to restore drivability, and they're expecting to see a lot more people once travel is restored. In the meantime, people have been sent out into the communities to learn more and provide help.

Workers repairing a washed-out road. Photo from St. Boniface Haiti Foundation, used with permission.

They're also trying to get in contact with their partner clinics in the severely-damaged west end of the peninsula.

Beyond the storm's immediate effect, storms can cause bigger problems in poor countries, like hunger and disease.

Most of the surrounding areas are pretty poor. "The majority of people live on less than $2 a day," said Schwartz.

And because many people in Fond-des-Blancs are subsistence farmers, they may have trouble getting food if their crops were damaged or washed away by the storm.

Hunger could turn into a major humanitarian crisis too, according to Schwartz. Diseases like cholera can also erupt after a natural disaster when people struggle to get access to clean water.

Getting an ambulance unstuck. Photo from St. Boniface Haiti Foundation, used with permission.

And with the peninsula cut off from the mainland, it's going to be really hard to get supplies in. That bridge — the La Digue — was really important. Trucks can't go over the washed-out dirt roads.

Extreme weather patterns can have a lasting impact on poor countries — and we might start seeing more of them.

While this specific incident is a new story, it's also one we might be hearing more and more in the future. But without adequate infrastructure, it's going to take Haiti a while to recover. It won't be easy, and it won't be quick. Everyone in Haiti, and around the world, will need to help.

There are lots of ways to help from America too. Primarily, you can help fund local, well-established charities and institutions like St. Boniface. Material donations are going to run into the same shipping problem as everything else, but funds can help local relief efforts buy food and supplies.

The United States has also deployed an aircraft carrier, the U.S.S. George Washington, as well as an amphibious transport dock, a hospital ship, and nine helicopters to Haiti to help.

When a natural disaster hits, it's often hard for communities to get back on their feet.

But if we could be more aware of how natural disasters affect developing nations — if we can help stories like about this local hospital get attention — we can actually save lives and help a country recover.

People often think of government bureaucrats as being boring stuffed shirts, but whoever runs social media at the National Park Service is proving that at least some of them have a sense of humor.

In a Facebook post, the NPS shared some seasonal advice for park-goers about what to do if they happen to encounter a bear, and it's both helpful and hilarious. Not that a confrontation with a bear in real life is a laughing matter—bears can be dangerous—but humor is a good way to get people to pay attention to important advice.

They wrote:

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People often think of government bureaucrats as being boring stuffed shirts, but whoever runs social media at the National Park Service is proving that at least some of them have a sense of humor.

In a Facebook post, the NPS shared some seasonal advice for park-goers about what to do if they happen to encounter a bear, and it's both helpful and hilarious. Not that a confrontation with a bear in real life is a laughing matter—bears can be dangerous—but humor is a good way to get people to pay attention to important advice.

They wrote:

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Each year, an estimated 1.8 million people in the United States are affected by cancer — most commonly cancers of the breast, lung, prostate, and blood cancers such as leukemia. While not everyone overcomes the disease, thanks to science, more people are surviving — and for longer — than ever before in history.

We asked three people whose lives have been impacted by cancer to share their stories – how their lives were changed by the disease, and how they're using that experience to change the future of cancer treatments with the hope that ultimately, in the fight against cancer, science will win. Here's what they had to say.

Celine Ryan, 55, engineer database programmer and mother of five from Detroit, MI

Photo courtesy of Celine Ryan

In September 2013, Celine Ryan woke up from a colonoscopy to some traumatic news. Her gastroenterologist showed her a picture of the cancerous mass they found during the procedure.

Ryan and her husband, Patrick, had scheduled a colonoscopy after discovering some unusual bleeding, so the suspicion she could have cancer was already there. Neither of them, however, were quite prepared for the results to be positive -- or for the treatment to begin so soon. Just two days after learning the news, Ryan had surgery to remove the tumor, part of her bladder, and 17 cancerous lymph nodes. Chemotherapy and radiation soon followed.

Ryan's treatment was rigorous – but in December 2014, she got the devastating news that the cancer, once confined to her colon, had spread to her lungs. Her prognosis, they said, was likely terminal.

But rather than give up hope, Ryan sought support from online research, fellow cancer patients and survivors, and her medical team. When she brought up immunotherapy to her oncologist, he quickly agreed it was the best course of action. Ryan's cancer, like a majority of colon and pancreatic cancers, had been caused by a defect on the gene KRAS, which can result in a very aggressive cancer that is virtually "undruggable." According to the medical literature, the relatively smooth protein structure of the KRAS gene meant that designing inhibitors to bind to surface grooves and treat the cancer has been historically difficult. Through her support systems, Ryan discovered an experimental immunotherapy trial at the National Institutes of Health (NIH) in Bethesda, MD., and called them immediately to see if she was eligible. After months of trying to determine whether she was a suitable candidate for the experimental treatment, Ryan was finally accepted.

The treatment, known as tumor-infiltrating lymphocyte therapy, or TIL, is a testament to how far modern science has evolved. With this therapy, doctors remove a tumor and harvest special immune cells that are found naturally in the tumor. Doctors then grow the cells in a lab over the next several weeks with a protein that promotes rapid TIL growth – and once the cells number into the billions, they are infused back into the patient's body to fight the cancer. On April 1, 2015, Ryan had her tumor removed at the NIH. Two months later, she went inpatient for four weeks to have the team "wash out" her immune system with chemotherapy and infuse the cells – all 148 billion of them – back into her body.

Six weeks after the infusion, Ryan and Patrick went back for a follow-up appointment – and the news they got was stunning: Not only had no new tumors developed, but the six existing tumors in her lungs had shrunk significantly. Less than a year after her cell infusion, in April 2016, the doctors told Ryan news that would have been impossible just a decade earlier: Thanks to the cell infusion, Ryan was now considered NED – no evaluable disease. Her body was cancer-free.

Ryan is still NED today and continuing annual follow-up appointments at the NIH, experiencing things she never dreamed she'd be able to live to see, such as her children's high school and college graduations. She's also donating her blood and cells to the NIH to help them research other potential cancer treatments. "It was an honor to do so," Ryan said of her experience. "I'm just thrilled, and I hope my experience can help a lot more people."

Patrice Lee, PhD, VP of Pharmacology, Toxicology and Exploratory Development at Pfizer

Photo courtesy of Patrice Lee

Patrice Lee got into scientific research in an unconventional way – through the late ocean explorer Jacques Cousteau.

Lee never met Cousteau but her dreams of working with him one day led her to pursue a career in science. Initially, Lee completed an undergraduate degree in marine biology; eventually, her interests changed and she decided to get a dual doctoral degree in physiology and toxicology at Duke University. She now works at Pfizer's R&D site in Boulder, CO (formerly Array BioPharma), leading a group of scientists who determine the safety and efficacy of new oncology drugs.

"Scientists focused on drug discovery and development in the pharmaceutical industry are deeply committed to inventing new therapies to meet unmet needs," Lee says, describing her field of work. "We're driven to achieve new medicines and vaccines as quickly as possible without sacrificing safety."

Among the drugs Lee has helped develop during her career, including cancer therapies, she says around a dozen are currently in development, while nine have received FDA approval — an incredible accomplishment as many scientists spend their careers without seeing their drug make it to market. Lee's team is particularly interested in therapies for brain metastases — something that Lee says is a largely unmet need in cancer research, and something her team is working on from a variety of angles. "Now that we've had rapid success with mRNA vaccine technology, we hope to explore what the future holds when applying this technology to cancers," Lee says.

But while evaluating potential cancer therapies is a professional passion of Lee's, it's also a mission that's deeply personal. "I'm also a breast cancer survivor," she says. "So I've been on the other side of things and have participated in a clinical trial."

However, seeing how melanoma therapies that she helped develop have affected other real-life cancer patients, she says, has been a highlight of her career. "We had one therapy that was approved for patients with BRAF-mutant metastatic melanoma," Lee recalls. "Our team in Boulder was graced by a visit from a patient that had benefited from these drugs that we developed. It was a very special moment for the entire team."

None of these therapies would be available, Lee says without rigorous science behind it: "Facts come from good science. Facts will drive the development of new drugs, and that's what will help patients."

Chiuying "Cynthia" Kuk (they/them) MS, 34, third-year medical student at Michigan State University College of Human Medicine

Photo courtesy of Cynthia Kuk

Cynthia Kuk was just 10 years old when they had a conversation that would change their life forever.

"My mother, who worked as a translator for the government at the time, had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and after her chemotherapy treatments she would get really sick," Kuk, who uses they/them pronouns, recalls. "When I asked my dad why mom was puking so much, he said it was because of the medicine she was taking that would help her get better."

Kuk's response was immediate: "That's so stupid! Why would a medicine make you feel worse instead of better? When I'm older, I want to create medicine that won't make people sick like that."

Nine years later, Kuk traveled from their native Hong Kong to the United States to do exactly that. Kuk enrolled in a small, liberal arts college for their Bachelor's degree, and then four years later started a PhD program in cancer research. Although Kuk's mother was in remission from her cancer at the time, Kuk's goal was the same as it had been as a 10-year-old watching her suffer through chemotherapy: to design a better cancer treatment, and change the landscape of cancer research forever.

Since then, Kuk's mission has changed slightly.

"My mom's cancer relapsed in 2008, and she ended up passing away about five years after that," Kuk says. "After my mom died, I started having this sense of urgency. Cancer research is such that you work for twenty years, and at the end of it you might have a fancy medication that could help people, but I wanted to help people now." With their mother still at the forefront of their mind, Kuk decided to quit their PhD program and enter medical school.

Now, Kuk plans to pursue a career in emergency medicine – not only because they are drawn to the excitement of the emergency room, but because the ER is a place where the most marginalized people tend to seek care.

"I have a special interest in the LGBTQ+ population, as I identify as queer and nonbinary," says Kuk. "A lot of people in this community and other marginalized communities access care through the ER and also tend to avoid medical care since there is a history of mistreatment and judgement from healthcare workers. How you carry yourself as a doctor, your compassion, that can make a huge difference in someone's care."

In addition to making a difference in the lives of LGBTQ+ patients, Kuk wants to make a difference in the lives of patients with cancer as well, like their mother had.

"We've diagnosed patients in the Emergency Department with cancer before," Kuk says. "I can't make cancer good news but how you deliver bad news and the compassion you show could make a world of difference to that patient and their family."

During their training, Kuk advocates for patients by delivering compassionate and inclusive care, whether they happen to have cancer or not. In addition to emphasizing their patient's pronouns and chosen names, they ask for inclusive social and sexual histories as well as using gender neutral language. In doing this, they hope to make medicine as a whole more accessible for people who have been historically pushed aside.

"I'm just one person, and I can't force everyone to respect you, if you're marginalized," Kuk says. "But I do want to push for a culture where people appreciate others who are different from them."