Friday 27 September 2013

The Hospital Diaries: Part 2

"The good we secure for ourselves is precarious and uncertain until it is secured for all of us and incorporated into our  common life"  Jane Addams

Friday 16th August, 2013 - Morning

Jane leaves after getting me breakfast, it is a sweet mixture of hot rice and spice. She stayed with me last night and has insisted on cleaning some of my clothes, bearing in mind that cleaning clothes does not mean firing them into a washing machine, it means cleaning them by hand and can take its tole of my soft European skin. My team leader Eric and my Field Officer Jebbeh arrive, Eric is a tall Ugandan who has been living in the UK for several years. I inform them that the doctor seen me once yesterday but didn't tell me what was wrong or explain any of my symptoms. I find out later that Jebbeh went straight to the doctor and complained about the level of "care" he was providing me. She also pointed out that I could have been allergic to any of the medication they were providing me and keeping me in the dark could have endangered my life.

Shortly after Jebbeh had a word with the doctor, he makes an apologetic apearence. He is small, rotund and has a friendly face, he explains that there is no sign of malaria but I "have a little bit of typhoid". How can you have alittle bit of typhoid? Then I remember that my vaccine would have stopped it from becoming fully blown, first world win! It would explain the diarroeah, puffy face and nausea. He also tells me that he will be adjusting my medication accordingly, he doesn't informe me of how he will be "adjusting" my medication but I am so tired that don't bother to ask. I am just glad that I know what is wrong and that something is going to be done about it. I quickly slip into a deep sleep and dream of massive pills and talking IVs.

I am woken by a man in nurses clothes, he has my "adjusted" medication. He opens my IV and injects something into me, it takes  a while to go in and burns as it does. He sees me wince in pain and tells me that it is for the typhoid, the phrase "Kill it with fire!" has never been so appropriate.  He hooks me up to a new drip which he explains is an anti-biotic, the pain is unbelievable and my eyes begin to water. Once the pain in my hand stops I have no time to feel relieved because a powerful burning sensation begins in my throat and spreads down into my chest. My eyes go out of focus and the room begins to spin, holy God this stuff is powerful. I decide to chat to the nurse in order to take my mind of the fact that I am medically drunk, his name is Sayid and his English is excellent. I ask him if I can get mobile credit anywhere, he tells me that his friend can get it for me. I jokingly threaten that I will come after him if her nicks my money, Sayid laughs and gives me a reassuring smile as I hand him 20,000le which is the equivalent of £3.50.

I haven't seen may of my team today, and watching Aljazeera cover the crisis in Egypt is not making me feel any better. My mood is as depressing as the weather, I remind myself that the medication they are giving me is bound to mess with my emotions. Still I find it hard to remain upbeat. When Sayid comes back with a second dose of liquid fire I decide to ask him about the boy who died. He rubs his beard and tells me that he died of menningitis; I can't believe it, I feel like someone has kicked my hard in the ribs. In that moment I realise that I was hoping for that boy to have died of an incurable disease, that there was nothing that could have been done for him. I explain to Saiyd that I am insured for £1Million worth of medical treatment, and I could be back in the UK in a matter of hours if need be. How is this okay? How can this happen? I am utterly speechless and tears role down my face silently for several minutes

Saiyd breaks the silence by asking me who I think is responsible for the death of the boy. I say it is the Doctor's fault as no one else is qualified or even has the authority to administer that kind of treatment when he isn't here. I explain that in the UK if a child dies under a doctor's care there would be some sort of investigation or inquiry. He nods silently and I take that as a sign that he agrees with me, however, what if anything can anyone do about this? If I am 100% honest I don't want to answer that question right now.

Jane has returned for my third night in the hospital, she has brought small bags of pop corn, I never knew you could buy pop corn here! The senior nurse enters, her name is Jennebah, I really like that name and over the last few days she has become my favourite nurse. She smiles broadly at me as she hads me my medication. Oh new meds! I am genuinely excited, there are two huge tablets. Sensing my question she tells me to chew them, "Eh?", she ignores my outburst and I start to chew, it tastes like chalk. Jennebah laughs and tells me it will ease the nausea I have been experiencing. "Finally!" I exclaim, I will be able to eat without feeling like I want to boke my ring up!

Jane is perched on the opposite bed, I notice that she has taken out the fake dread locks. She tells me that she spent most of her time scratching her head and didn't see the point of keeping them in. I give her one of my legendary head massages and she almost falls asleep. Jane makes me laugh so much we joke about men, okadas (motorbikes) and quirks of Sierra Leone, I have felt so awful today and she is like a little ray of giggle inducing sunshine. One thing I will miss about Sierra Leone is the people, despite the rubbish in the street, the sickness, sexism and poor education Sierra Leoneans are amazing people and I love them, I love them a lot.

Saturday 17th August, 2013

I am having the most amazing dream about crowd surfing when I feel an uncomfortable tug on my IV. I catch a glimpse of lip-pierced nurse injecting me with more liquid fire, she then attaches another anti-biotic drip. Holy Christ this hurts, this hurts a lot! "It hurts" I grumble sleepily, she smiles sympathetically and rubs the IV into my hand, "How in God's name will that make it better!?" I think to myself. Between burning and stinging I feel like my hand is about to explode. She rubs it a bit more then walks out; what the actual hell, my hand is killing me. However, after a while the pain subsides and I fall back into a light and troubled sleep. Jane wakes me and hands me a bag of sweat rice and spice, it  tastes like rice pudding and is hot. It is the first hot breakfast I have had since coming here. Jane leaves to spend the weekend with her daughter, baby May and I finish sucking on my bag of rice as I watch the crisis in Egypt unfold once more.

My experience in this hospital has had a profound impact on me, it has really brought home the economic, social and political disparity between the northern and southern hemispheres of this planet. I always knew it existed but it never really concerned me a great deal. I had  my own country to worry about but I've realised that my problems are not really problems at all, in reality they are more like passing concerns. I have never had to worry about health care, education or getting a job. There are loads of jobs in the UK, loads! Most of the population in Sierra Leone are unemployed, adequate health care is hard to acces and when it is accessed the level of care is mediocre at best and receiving proper treatement is slow to happen. I never knew how good I had it, how good we have it until I came here.

The doctor and Jennebah are here, they tell me that I am looking much better than yesterday. Jennebah smiles and I cant help but beam back at her, "can I go home today?", I want so badly to back to the YIC and my team, because even though this experience has been eye opening I don't want to be here anymore. "Yes you can leave around 4pm", thank God! I shake his hand and ask for his name, he tells me that his name is Albert. I like it, he looks like an Albert. I thank him for the treatment, but I am really thanking  my nurses, Jennebah, lip-pierced nurse and Saiyd. They did all the hard work, they looked after me and if it wasn't for them there would be no health care in Sierra Leone. I don't see them as I leave, I wish I could thank them. I walk out of the hospital feeling inexplicably sad, I feel like I have changed in some way that I cannot understand yet.  I decide that I will come back to the hospital to say goodbye to my nurses and thank them, however, for now I need to decide what to do with this experience, to share or to forget. I think you can guess that I decided to share.

Thank you, thank you so much for reading! 

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