http://www.cnn.com/2017/09/29/health...age/index.html

Yet while Alvarez went without antibiotics, the port in San Juan was filled with row after row of containers of food, water and medicine, if only doctors had access to them. Instead, those supplies are still piled up, waiting for the trucks, drivers and fuel needed for distribution.
Just what is that like? How hard is it to get your hands on these desperately needed materials? My crew and I decide to find out.
Armed with a list of critical medications needed at the Loiza clinic, we first head to the local US Department of Health & Human Services tent to talk to the local disaster management team.
A staffer named Lisa looks over my list. "Yes, we have these medications," she tells me. She asks us to wait 15 or 20 minutes.
The crew and I settle down to wait. The staffer told us they'd have to run it up two chains of command before medications could be distributed.
Forty-five minutes later, we are still waiting. But we hear about a US-based aid organization, Direct Relief, that has shipped $1.7 million dollars of medical supplies to San Juan.
A 10-minute drive away, we find Direct Relief staff handing out supplies to local doctors under a parking structure. The scene is controlled chaos, as each doctor tries to grab the medications they need.
I join in.

Volunteer doctors with operational cars and adequate fuel have begun taking matters into their own hands, traveling to San Juan to obtain medical necessities and transporting them back to their local hospitals, clinics and shelters.
Just what is that like? How hard is it to get your hands on these desperately needed materials? My crew and I decide to find out.
Armed with a list of critical medications needed at the Loiza clinic, we first head to the local US Department of Health & Human Services tent to talk to the local disaster management team.
A staffer named Lisa looks over my list. "Yes, we have these medications," she tells me. She asks us to wait 15 or 20 minutes.
The crew and I settle down to wait. The staffer told us they'd have to run it up two chains of command before medications could be distributed.
Forty-five minutes later, we are still waiting. But we hear about a US-based aid organization, Direct Relief, that has shipped $1.7 million dollars of medical supplies to San Juan.
A 10-minute drive away, we find Direct Relief staff handing out supplies to local doctors under a parking structure. The scene is controlled chaos, as each doctor tries to grab the medications they need.
I join in.

"Let me see that list," says one of the senior doctors. Before long, he's handing me the antibiotics I came for: ciprofloxacin, levaquin, azithromycin, rocephin, clindamycin and cefepime.
Minutes later we're in the car, on our way to the shelter. Rodriguez meets us in the lobby when we arrive.
"Thank you!" she beams as she looks through the bag and then hugs it to her tight, like a baby.
I hug her, thankful I could be of help.
One of my favorite professors in medical school told me something I never forgot: "You can create the best treatment in the world, but if it doesn't reach the people who need it, it has no value."
I think the same can be said about what's happening in Puerto Rico. So many lifesaving supplies are on the island, but until they get to the people who need them, they have little value.