Randle thinks he might have a brain tumor, but it would take a CT scan to tell. That isn't available at the rehab clinic, or very readily elsewhere in Haiti, either. The family can't afford to go to a hospital. If Randle provided the money, they'd "just buy food," which isn't a bad thing when people are hungry. But it wouldn't help diagnose the boy.

Vitamin and mineral deficiencies, caused by poor and sporadic diet, can also create the symptoms. That's an easier one to handle. Randle gives the boy's mother a bottle of vitamins and instructions, in Creole. Then he provides a pediatric walker to steady the child, in hopes that he'll at least be able to get around safely.

A little girl, dressed in a frilly, white dress with bright red bows in her hair, extends her arm. There's a huge purple growth that obscures her elbow. It's grotesque, but not dangerous. A fatty tumor.

"It's such a waste," Weekley noted sadly. "It would take less than an hour in an American doctor's office to remove it."

In Haiti, that won't happen. The expense can't be met, the risk of infection is too great. And though it doesn't threaten her life, it will help shape it. The mass will likely determine how she views herself, whom she marries, how she fits in. In a way, the benign blob represents the heartbreak of health care in Haiti.

Doctors, both Haitian and volunteers from outside, provide some medical care to the island community, though not enough. Randle would like to add pediatricians, orthopedists, general practitioners to the list of people who come to Haiti with Healing Hands. It's hard to recruit them, though. As a trip gets closer, they tend to find other things they need to do. They cancel.

Though frustrated by the sheer number of people who don't ever get necessary medical attention, "for the spinal cord injury or the curved foot, we're what he needs. It's our contribution to Haiti. We can't cure everyone. But we can help," Randle said.

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A woman with arthritis tells interpreter Chad Lowe that she can't work and her children are starving.

In another room, LDS Hospital nurse Kathleen Acree examines a boy she's pretty sure has leukemia, questioning his mother closely. The signs are all there, but the simple diagnostic blood test that would confirm or deny her hunch is elusive.

If they had a diagnosis, would it help? Chemotherapy doesn't exist in Haiti. While children in America usually survive childhood leukemia, Haitian children never do.

Lowe, a student at Brigham Young University who, like Jonathan Gifford, learned the language in a Haiti-Creole mission in Florida, tells the boy's mother to see that "he gets the best food in the family and he stays away from sick people." He suggests asking their pastor to say a special prayer for the child.

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Tuesday: Life at the clinic.

E-MAIL: lois@desnews.com