Lindsay survived (barely) her first day on the wards at Moi University Teaching and Referral Hospital. To say the least, the experience was shocking, humbling, and inspiring all at the same time. To set the stage, the hospital is gated from the community by armed guards. They serve two purposes: to keep by-standers out and to keep patients who haven't paid their medical bills in. On the wards, two patients are assigned to every twin bed, head-to-toe fashion. Isolation rooms do not exist - so all TB patients are thrown in the mix with the others, without masks (unlike the US, where TB patients are admitted to negative pressure rooms, and anyone entering is required to wear a special N-95 mask). There is constantly urine, vomit, and feces all over the floor (or in the sink, as I saw today), and the nauseating smell of body odor penetrates your nostrils, clothes, and hair.
We do patient rounds with the Kenyan medical students and residents. Unlike the US, medications and lab tests are completely hit or miss. It's common to wait several days for a test that takes one hour in the US. Patients commonly do not receive medications that were ordered, and X-rays take several days to be completed. There is a CT scanner (which is surprising), but patients must go across town to have access to MRI. It is a constant struggle to decide which tests are necessary, knowing that the patients probably cannot afford them.
The experience has been overwhelming...on the first day, I did a lumbar puncture (spinal tap) - my first one - on a patient without any local numbing medicine. In the past two days, two patients have already died. Apparently the mortality rate is 10% at this hospital.
The pictures don't give a clear view - we were told, though, that certain Kenyan tribes will literally try to kill you if you take a picture of them. Certainly more stories and photos will come, but for now, we're trying to keep things in perspective and be open to how this experience will change us forever.
Lindsay survived (barely) her first day on the wards at Moi University Teaching and Referral Hospital. To say the least, the experience was shocking, humbling, and inspiring all at the same time. To set the stage, the hospital is gated from the community by armed guards. They serve two purposes: to keep by-standers out and to keep patients who haven't paid their medical bills in. On the wards, two patients are assigned to every twin bed, head-to-toe fashion. Isolation rooms do not exist - so all TB patients are thrown in the mix with the others, without masks (unlike the US, where TB patients are admitted to negative pressure rooms, and anyone entering is required to wear a special N-95 mask). There is constantly urine, vomit, and feces all over the floor (or in the sink, as I saw today), and the nauseating smell of body odor penetrates your nostrils, clothes, and hair.
We do patient rounds with the Kenyan medical students and residents. Unlike the US, medications and lab tests are completely hit or miss. It's common to wait several days for a test that takes one hour in the US. Patients commonly do not receive medications that were ordered, and X-rays take several days to be completed. There is a CT scanner (which is surprising), but patients must go across town to have access to MRI. It is a constant struggle to decide which tests are necessary, knowing that the patients probably cannot afford them.
The experience has been overwhelming...on the first day, I did a lumbar puncture (spinal tap) - my first one - on a patient without any local numbing medicine. In the past two days, two patients have already died. Apparently the mortality rate is 10% at this hospital.
The pictures don't give a clear view - we were told, though, that certain Kenyan tribes will literally try to kill you if you take a picture of them. Certainly more stories and photos will come, but for now, we're trying to keep things in perspective and be open to how this experience will change us forever.
Oh my.....I'm thankful you both have each other. Be safe - and feel the love coming your way from home. Mom
ReplyDeleteYou guys are in out thoughts, miss you, and love you. Chase, Kie, and Kirb
ReplyDeleteI was speechless after reading your posting today (at the office). Your last sentence keeps going through my head: needing to "keep things in perspective and be open to how this experience will change us forever." That's exactly the outlook you need to have, but it's not easy. So, just stay as strong/balanced as possible throughout this, and know that you're going to make a BIG difference now and in the future. And don't lose your smile and sense of humor! I wish I could send you a ship full of N-95 masks... for your patients AND for you. You're in our thoughts/prayers 24/7. Love, Dad A.
ReplyDeleteThese details are really interesting... and inspiring. I am really proud of you! I hope you let yourself indulge and enjoy your down time, even when you know the sadness happening at the hospital.
ReplyDeleteHi Lindsay and Erik...I got home after work today and read your most recent blog. It certainly puts things in perspective and highlights what we take for granted here at home. Thanks for the birthday wishes in your emails today. I wish we could have celebrated together and miss you lots. All of us are thinking of the two of you every day. Lots of love...Dad B.
ReplyDeleteHey guys! Took me a while to get signed up; but I am so happy to hear from you. Love to read your updates! Please take care of each other and what you are doing is a wonderful thing. Love you, Aunt Barb
ReplyDelete