July 13th: I woke up this morning hyped about spending the day in Peds. I got there in time to follow Dr. Sauud with her morning ward rounds where I saw endless cases of meningitis mixed with pneumonia, sickle cell disease, rhumatoid heart disease, nephrotic syndrome, rickets, and more. Meningitis is so absurdly prevalent. You'll often see three kids to a bed near the oxygen supply and two to a bed is not uncommon elsewhere. It is stuffy, smelly and hot to the point where I'm uncomfortable, but the kids seem to be in so much other discomfort that they don't seem to notice or mind. It's usually the mothers that keep watch on the children.
Most of the diagnoses have an additional "severe malnutrition" attached and yikes are some kids sickly looking. Its horrible. There was a five month old who honestly still looked like a preemie. She was completely unresponsive to touch, sound...anything. The doctor clapped in front of her face without a flinch or a blink. I always always want to hold little babies, but when they are so so helpless it makes me wish that could be enough. She was strapped to oxygen and was febrile (high temperature). The poor little thing.
We weren't half way through ward rounds when I saw this little bundle all alone on a bed (I never did find out exactly how old she was, but I'm guessing 9 mo to one year). No family member was there the whole time I'd been there and I was starting to get curious. I went over to a nurse and asked why she was all alone (and wanted to include "and why is she unattended by staff?" but knew my place). The nurse explained to me that she was abandoned by her mother. All alone. Sick and alone. I stepped over towards her and tried to get her to stop crying. Oh little did I know I would be spending the rest of my hospital time bonding with the little thing! She was crying and waving her arms (in each breath and each sob you could hear the mucus buildup causing her troubles). I tried to reach out for her and get her attention but her little arm pushed mine away. Little did she know she was dealing with persistent Ann Bergstrand. ;) I kept trying to smile at her and console her the best I could. To my delight, she eventually caved and let me in. Before she knew it she was snoozing with her little fist wrapped around my finger. I slipped it out without her waking and went to go continue watching ward rounds.
Soon she was up again, crying and waving her arms again. I saw a bottle set on the table beside her bed (keep in mind that I had not seen a single doctor or nurse attend to her all morning) so I decided that maybe she was hungry. I sat her up and helped her with the cup and realized that drinking would be a struggle for her, with all the mucus buildup. I tried to make her go slow but most of the milk ended up outside her mouth. I felt so helpless.
The icing on the cake was when I checked her diaper to see if that might be another factor making her fussy: she had been sitting in a dirty diaper most likely the whole morning. The rage started building inside me as I walked over to one of the nurses and asked where they keep the clean diapers. She looked at me with annoyed undertones and said "I'm too busy to do that right now" and I said "ok, but can you point me in the direction of them and I'll do it!" (changing diapers, after all, IS something I am capable of) and she responds with something I have trouble understanding entirely but I think she didn't want me into the chemical room? Either way I was frustrated beyond belief. It would take 30 seconds to go get a diaper for me. Every other child had a guardian of some sort to watch after them, feed them, change them, etc. But this little pumpkin didn't. And its like that puts a big sticker on her forehead saying "Not worth the time, effort, or emotion to care for me." Because nobody (other than me) even glanced her way. I wanted to break into the back 'chemical room,' (wherever it was?) and steal a diaper. Better yet, I wanted to wrap her up into a bundle and swing her right out the front door of the hospital. I seriously thought about this. I don't think anyone would have stopped me; I don't think anyone would have noticed. That made me even more frustrated.
I understand how overworked the doctors and nurses are here, and how much death and disease they see on a daily basis, so it's hard to blame them -they are just adapting. It becomes survival of the fittest. If someone can't make it with minimal care, then they certainly aren't going to become a priority. That's not the typical mindset you want in a healthcare setting, after all it's the ones who can't survive on their own that need the care the most... It keeps me all balled up with uneasy anger.
Coming back to the compound, knowing that little orphan was still laying alone and filthily unfed, was difficult for me today. But the crew went out to dinner and we were able to have a great time together! We came back and a few of us stayed up having heart-to-hearts, getting to know each other. It was really great, we have a good crew here in Mombasa! I'm meeting some amazing people!
And now, off to safari! :)
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