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Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Roehrig with students at Mbili Primary School
Excerpt from July 8, 2012
This time the drive was rather short, and we made it to the only hospital in Sagam in a short 20 minutes. Dr. Burke had promised us a chaotic scene, but had not prepared us for the sight that awaited us as we pulled into the parking lot. There on the lawn, sprawled for dozens of yards in every direction, were over 500 children and parents. They had heard the hospital was offering free services for the day, and the announcement had drawn crowds. The doctors of our faculty split up and got straight to work seeing patients. The students wasted no time in finding ways to make themselves useful. I shadowed Dr. Burke for the majority of the time, assisting in the gathering of medical history from patients, organizing and recording clinical notes, and helping patients into and out of the waiting rooms. I took temperatures of a few dozen children, ages anywhere from six months to 10 years. I also watched Dr. Burke’s interaction with the children and parents. He was tirelessly happy. Watching him work made me realize the incredible compassion it takes to work with patients day in and day out. Screaming children, parents who could barely speak English, and the sheer number of patients was enough to make many doctors from the United States run for the hills. But Dr. Burke kept his smile alive for all four hours we were there. In that time period we saw almost 50 patients.
A few memorable cases stand out. I watched a six-year-old boy seize due to his epilepsy, and felt powerless when Dr. Burke told the family they would have to travel to Nairobi to get the required brain scans for the epilepsy drug prescription to be filled. I knew his family will never make it to Nairobi, and the little boy will probably die due to his condition. Another seven-year-old girl presented with an advanced staph infection that Dr. Burke guessed was drug-resistant. She will probably be a chronic carrier of the bacteria, prone to breakouts that turn into painful sores all over her legs. Yet another girl presented with moderate malnutrition, her arms no bigger around than a cardboard tube for paper towels. She was also suffering from sickle-cell anemia, a common occurrence in East Africa. Finally, a girl presented with mild fever and diarrhea, and who we later discovered had recently lost both her parents. The doctor treating her stopped writing on his pad and held her in his arms for a few minutes while she silently cried into his shoulder.
I’m guessing a lot of people might be put off by what I have just written about, but what I saw was compassion for human life at its greatest. This is what I think being a doctor is all about. And honestly, I couldn’t have solidified that statement until I was looking into the face of that girl. Practicing medicine isn’t about procedures, drugs, prescriptions or scans, it’s about making someone who is at their most vulnerable a more whole being. Sometimes those material things are necessary to accomplish this, but there are no prescriptions for hugs or someone who says he cares.
Again, for those of you reading this, do not be saddened by what I’ve described. Instead, try to understand what is happening around you and do your best to ease the life and suffering of those around you, especially those you have never met, for that is what I have learned today.
If you would like to read more entries from Andrew, please visit his blog. More information on the Mass General Emergency Department's Divsion of Global Health and Human Rights.
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