HE DIDN’T ANSWER
by Dawn Michael
Rounds have started. I move from bed to bed with the doctors, three patients at a time. Bed 3 contains Matu, Mugambi and Karanja. Matu’s spine is beginning to curve from six weeks of clutching his knees so he doesn’t touch the cold, contaminated floor. His spot at the foot of the bed is tinged yellow. He’s 4. He was treated for malaria and discharged two weeks ago, but with no family to claim him he’s still hereŠand getting sick again.
My eyes move to Mugambi. Before I ask, his shirt is rising, still rising. My eyes bulge uncontrollably. The growth, a massive basketball, extends from his abdomen to his back. His glassy eyes stare with silent questions. Six months here, with no treatment. The tumor is growing, spreading, and he just waits, hoping for help. “Where is the chart for this patient in Bed 10?” the doctor says to the nurse. No chart is found. “Sir, what is your name?” the doctor asks the patient. We wait… No response. “Find his chart, when he gives you his name we’ll come back to see him.”
On to the next patient, there are hundreds more to see with three wards, sixty beds per ward, three patients per bed. Infants, children and adults all together in the same ward. Melanoma, Sarcoma, Tuberculosis, broken bones. IMMUNOSUPPRESSED. But rarely any treatment — in Africa, that is.
Ten feet away, I hear wheezing as crisp as my own breath. She struggles for every breath, her chest prominent and neck muscles bulging. Her nose, crusted over from excess mucous, blocks her airway. Her mouth foams at the edges. There’s no oxygen, much less a respirator to relieve her strained body. She’s 2. Respiration – 6. Two minutes pass. RESPIRATION – 0 The mother noiselessly exits, a sign to the nurses. When the family leaves, death is near. “Bag!” a nurse calls out. Her limp body is scooped from the infant seat and rushed to the cold, metal resuscitation table where CPR starts. Three minutes later — A breath. She made it. This time.
I need fresh air. I feel weak and my concealed emotions are beginning to surface. Walking out the door, I look to the left. His position is awkward, back arched, stomach indented, ribs protruding. He takes a deep gasp. “Excuse me, nurse?doctor? somebody?” I whisper urgently. Report continues. “Excuse me!” I insist, interrupting rounds. “The patient in Bed 10, something isn’t right. I don’t think he’s breathing.” His bedmates solemnly stand, sluggishly pick up their charts and move to another bed, expressionless. “Who is he? What’s wrong with him?” the nurse said. “We don’t know”, the doctor answered. “He didn’t answer when I asked his name.”
This piece was written by a UCLA medical student who spent the summer in Kenya, Africa working with a public health organization. She has begun a fund-raising campaign to help the people there. Here is what she has to say about it.
We rounded through pediatrics, women’s ward, men‘s ward, and ob/gyn. Wow! What a shock.. 99% of the people had malaria and malaria is a KILLER! It was very sad, because if the patient didn‘t come in with malaria, most likely they were going to get it while in the hospital. This is a problem because the hospital can‘t afford screens for all the windows, or mosquito nets for all the beds. I saw babies and toddlers coming in with convulsions, anemia, and unconscious (in coma) due to malaria, and saw them dying each day. My heart went out to these people that see very little hope in their life and as a result don‘t come to the hospital until the persons sickness is at an irreversible stage. They don‘t completely understand the importance of seeking health care earlier. Part of the problem is they believe that once you “Check in“, you don‘t “Check out“ — which is a sick cycle because they continue not coming to the hospital until it is too late to do anything for them with the medications and substandard facilities that they have in their country.
I learned a lot while I was there and learned how they deal with death and sickness. I also realized how strong and intelligent a people they are. Unfortunately, money is a barrier that prevents them from reaching their fullest potentials. I am a student now and don¹t have much to offer on a large scale. But I believe everything that is big, started small at some point, and I and the other two students that I went with have decided to sponsor the hospital in Maua. They already have an education program set up and it would be cheaper for us to provide them money than to buy them the mosquito nets and materials they need since the cost of living is cheaper there.
If anyone has questions or is interested in helping out, contact:
dawncm@ucla.edu -Dawn Michael
Blove10@ucla.edu – Brandye Wilson
tefyilm@ucla.edu – Teferi Mitiku