Medical Camp Sakwa: Thursday, Day 2

November 5, 2009

Thursday, Camp Day 2:

Like a Swiss train this operation is… at least in part. It is thrilling to see the motivation and energy of the Christ Church Missioners. Up late, up early. No complaints. Moving bags, filling scripts, shaking and grooving; all after a full day of treating patients. Really challenging patients. We don’t speak the language; and, even when they speak English we sometimes need an interpreter.

We are humbled by their status. We don’t have too much time for grief and pity: treat and move on. It is one thing to accept cognitively that we cannot save the world, a whole other to accept it emotionally – especially in the face of such tremendous need. Do we try to save the hand of a 12 year old boy who has walked 2 days to see us? Do we attempt to do a minor exploration of the wound with all the pain management we can muster? –OR– Do we attempt to insist that the Kenyans care for their own? (We couldn’t get them to take ownership of the case after several requests, much less get them to take him to a hospital.) This said, it is difficult to not believe that we could do a better job… and yet so arrogant to assume so. In the US, this child would have been in the OR with a specialized Hand surgeon within about 2 hours. Instead, tonight, as he was literally the last patient in the gate, we did a minor wash out (excruciating) and sent him with antibiotics and plans to see him in the morning for treatment. (this will be our first use of IV antibiotics). And so we Americans consult with one another, we pray, we plead with God for discernment about how to manage this child’s care. And, somewhere in the next 12 hours the answer will be revealed to us. We cling to the belief that the Creator, the Great Physician will guide us. And of course, He will.

So in the meantime we go on working .. sans help from the Kenyan Physicians with only a few exceptions. While they toil over whether they’ve received their fair allotment of Coca Cola and white bread, we treat, and treat, and treat. Who knows what the diagnosis is? Is this really malaria, dreaded HIV, worse yet TB, putting ourselves at risk? Thank God we are immunized from typhoid, yellow fever, Polio, tetanus, mumps, measles, etc. We see them all, at least peripherally, and take great comfort in our immunized status. “But for the grace of God” is our answer once again.

I wonder if someday, someone will be as proud of us as I am of all the great Christian missionaries who preceded us in the absence of immunizations, antibiotics, auto transportation, electricity, etc. One day will they think we are brave to have risked TB, parasitic infection, or simple rage from pushing crowds who insist on being seen? Truth is, I have great pity for them (if not their actions). I wish all of us in the world would treat each other more kindly; and I wish we could see each patient without them having to endure long journeys, great pain and thorough frustration to find they have stood in line for hours only to have the gate closed in front of them. How? How are we supposed to reconcile that?

Those who made it inside the compound today filled our hearts by their simple words of gratitude. It is truly all they had to give and it was more than enough to have received. “No sir, I cannot help you see again. You need surgery for your cataracts.” “No sir, we cannot restore your legs’ function taken from you 30 years ago, not by the witchcraft you believe, but by the polio that stopped you from running when you were 20.” “My God, ma’am. Your child is ½ girl, ½ boy. We barely treat this in the US.” “ I’m sorry, we’ve run out of antibiotics, or cream, or glasses, or, or, or…” “No, you will not recover further from your 10 year ago stroke, no..,no..no.” And so it goes. And the globe still spins, our hearts still break, and their faces still smile and offer words of gratitude. And these were our favorite cases. They’re the ones we don’t talk about even amongst ourselves. Seems trite, and we’ve been touched too deeply.

It’s easier to discuss that our helpers (K. doc.s) …don’t; that a walkie- talkie got stolen; that the local food called ugali sucks, even when well prepared. It’s easier just to keep working until fatigue takes over and we sleep until the next day of camp begins.. where a 12 year old boy, at risk of losing his right hand awaits us. He will be our first patient. You see the local pastor took him in for the night and we shall take him in for the day. But, just how and what shall we do for him, only heaven knows.