Suitcase Stories®: Ishtar, a Haitian Immigrant, Shares Why She Came and Why She Stays
Ishtar Pady, a recent immigrant from Haiti, works as a Case Specialist in IINE’s Lowell, Massachusetts office. Ishtar has shared her Suitcase Stories® performance with many audiences, chronicling her and her father’s journey to the U.S. in pursuit of medical care, and the evolution of her relationships both with him and with the country in which she now resides. This is the story in her own words.
About two years ago, it occurred to me that I had to become the parent of my parent. I was in Haiti and my father was very sick.
As a family (because one voice was not enough), we had to convince him to go to the hospital. He did not want to, and he was not seeing any doctor at the time. His “Primary Care Physician,” as you call it here, had been his younger brother, who had also been my doctor, but he had been killed the year before during a gruesome kidnapping attempt. Since then, my dad did not have a PCP, and he did not trust that many doctors. He was really stubborn; I hear it’s a family trait, but no worries, it skipped my generation (you can’t prove me wrong)!
Anyway, after a couple of days, we convinced my father, and he agreed to go to the hospital. When we got there, they told me that before he could see a doctor, I must see the admissions office. The clerk asked me about my father’s insurance. Though my dad had worked for the government for about 50 years, he didn’t have great insurance, so he was on my mother’s plan – or so we thought. When I submitted her card, they checked with the insurance provider and then told me my father was no longer eligible for coverage because he was over seventy. That is when I realized that apparently, in Haiti, when you are over seventy and typically need it the most, well, I guess you are no longer qualified for care protection. So, I had to give my credit card on the spot just to secure basic medical care.
Back then, I had been working for about six years, so not a lot of savings; you know what young people do with money! Not partying…shopping. I gave my card anyway as I had no choice. My dad needed urgent medical care. He spent about a week at the hospital and got a little better, but it became clear that we had to do more because nothing was solved.
The last time my dad had seen a doctor was about 6 months earlier. That doctor had diagnosed him with stage 4 cancer and had firmly stated that there was no treatment available in Haiti. His recommendation had been to travel to the Dominican Republic, Cuba, or the United States of America for a chance to survive. We investigated all the options. At that point, my father had a USA visa, but instead of seeking care elsewhere, he let it expire. Stubborn.
Now, however, we could no longer resort to inaction and hope for the best as my father was suffering without recourse even for his extreme pain. So, I prompted my uncles and aunts to speak to him, and we were finally able to persuade my dad to move. He and I traveled to the U.S. and when we arrived, we went straight from the airport to Boston Medical Center. It was a long trip, and my father was tired and in a lot of pain.
Here I was again in a hospital lobby, really stressed because I did not have a valid credit card in this new country and my father still did not have insurance. But surprise! They didn’t ask for that. He was admitted shortly after and spent about a week there. After that, we went home to my uncle’s house who had graciously welcomed us. I have many uncles and aunts in this state, which is the main reason we chose to come to Massachusetts, aside from the fact that I heard it is one of the best states when it comes to healthcare. I can attest to that; my dad did have a great team at BMC.
While I was my father’s main caretaker at home, I was still working for my employer in Haiti. They were really understanding and allowed me to work remotely. I was a Sponsorship Program Coordinator, supporting schools in remote communities and helping vulnerable children get access to quality education. I was working hard, and hardly working because I loved it! I was always traveling to new places, never too far from the beach, meeting new people, starting empowerment initiatives, and being empowered. I loved it, but shortly after I was laid off. The organization I worked with, a U.S.-based NGO, was cutting all operations in Haiti. They simply could no longer maintain their activities in the country because the worsening situation made it too dangerous.
Fortunately, I had the opportunity to apply for a work permit, so I started the process. When I mentioned it to my father (because we talked about almost everything), he asked me to apply for him too. Well, I could not refuse based on the fact that he was terminally ill, so I said, “Dad, I think the retirement age here is 65 so you don’t need a work permit.” He replied, “Do you know how old Trump and Biden are?” I must admit he got me there and I had no argument, so I let him be. My dad was actually still hopeful he would fully recover and be able to work. He even kept arguing that he wanted to go back to Haiti. But my family and I knew that was unrealistic.
Shortly after, he did pass, only two months after being here. We came too late for treatment; he was only provided palliative care. However, I was still happy because in Haiti, navigating my father’s care was complicated. It was a hassle between the three of us, a younger sister and a cousin. But here, my dad had nine siblings, and he spent his final months surrounded by family. My father’s relatives and his older children all came to spend time with him. They brought food daily at the hospital (because, of course, my father did not like the hospital food). I was also happy to be in a place where I was relieved of the burden and the daily stress that I would not be able to take care of my father because he received the needed support. I was grateful he could die as humanely as possible.
That was one of my main reasons for choosing to stay in the US and wanting to contribute to this society. I felt it was right that my taxes should be allocated to things that mattered like my father’s health. His 50 years of proudly working and taxpaying in Haiti served him very little in the end. I was frustrated and despite my love for my country, I did not want my fate to be like my uncle’s – murdered and left in the streets, or like my father’s – slowly dying because of lack of treatment. So even though I was grieving, I began focusing on employment.
I was delighted when I soon got a position at the International Institute of New England. I feel satisfied that I get to support immigrants like my father and me. I am glad that I get to connect them to available resources. This job allows me to contribute with my labor power and my taxes.
However, when I received my first paycheck, and I saw what those taxes translated to…I was so surprised! I complained to everyone. I remember discussing the issue with an older sister who had lived in the US all her life and she said, looking at me with pity in her eyes but a smile on her lips, “Oh girl, you didn’t know? They call it TAXACHUSSETTS!”
It hurts to this day (less shopping), but I am thankful that I am here in this community, contributing, growing, and helping others grow as well. Leaving Haiti was about loving me and my family first, after having been put through the constant stress due to violence, threats, life-threatening sickness and so on. For me, coming to the United States was choosing to not only live with dignity, but also, for my father, choosing to die with dignity. That is something I desperately wish for the people in Haiti every day.
Suitcase Stories® invites storytellers to develop and share meaningful personal experiences of migration and cross-cultural exchange with others—from large audiences to small groups—of all ages. Learn more about Suitcase Stories®.
