Hospital Visit
My (Alisha) first visit to an out-of-country hospital went a
little worse than I had expected…to say the least. I’ve been in and out of hospitals in the U.S. on various
occasions, for myself, my kids, and visiting friends and family. I thought I was prepared for pretty
much anything. I’ve watched my
teeny tiny babies get poked and prodded while they lay inside a plastic bed for
two months. I thought that was rough. I was incredibly wrong.
Christina and I walked up to the hospital in Luganville, VU
on Monday, July 30, 2012…Vanuatu’s Independence Day. It wasn’t a far walk from their house, but entirely uphill,
which is weird when you’re used to everything being completely flat, but we’re
adjusting J. The hospital is a group of long
buildings connected by covered sidewalks.
Different than the completely enclosed buildings that I’m used to, but
it makes sense here since it’s never cold, and the covered walkways are shelter
from the rain (it’s rained at least once every day since we arrived). She showed me the emergency entrance,
and we walked past the surgery building, arriving at the pediatric wing. The first room we walked into housed
kids (and their families) who were mostly recovering from broken bones. One little boy had a cast on his arm, while
another appeared to have one ankle tethered to his bed…it was later explained
to me that he had broken both bones in his lower leg and the “tether” was
traction to aid in his healing.
There was a tiny baby asleep on another bed with maybe an older sibling
beside her, and then a couple of older girls sitting on another bed next to the one with the baby, I’m
assuming the caretakers of the baby.
All of the beds were pushed against the outside edge of the room, making
a bed perimeter. We walked through
that room as Christina greeted each family and patient on each bed, as I just
listened, trying to decipher as much as I could. I do okay picking up on what’s going on in a conversation if
I just listen, but I have no idea how to speak Bislama yet.
We passed through that room into a long hallway and were
greeted by a nurse with whom Christina is familiar. They stood and chatted for a while about the little girl who
we were intending to visit. She’s
been suffering with headaches and fever for weeks, has been on numerous
antibiotics, and no one has any clue as to what is causing her issues. After Christina had been caught up on
the most recent information about Priscilla, we walked into her room. On a tiny cot of a bed lay a miserable
little girl, not much bigger than my Eli, moaning in pain. The only medication she can receive for
pain relief isn’t even as strong as Tylenol, and it didn’t seem to be helping
her too much. As Priscilla’s
grandmother and Christina talked about her condition, I stood and watched this
poor little girl shivering and moaning in pain, imagining if she were one of my
babies. And my stomach began to
flip. How helpless her
grandmother, nurses, and doctors must’ve been feeling. Priscilla peeked her face out from
under her covers to say hello and thank you for coming, and then went back
under her covers…moaning in pain.
I didn’t think I was going to be able to remain standing much longer, so
I told Christina I was going out to the hall to get some fresh air. She followed me out soon after, and we
went to the nurse’s station (more like an office), where the nurse (the only
one there for the entire pediatric wing) proceeded to tell us about a 2 year
old little baby who was presently in surgery. He had been playing in the yard while his momma worked in
the garden. She had stuck her bush
knife (picture a machete) into the ground, and while the baby was playing, he
had tripped, fallen on the knife, and cut open his belly. The momma had to walk 8 hours into town
to get to the hospital. And this
wasn’t some little slice. From my
understanding, when they arrived, his insides were falling out. Again, I felt like I was about to lose
my legs. Or my lunch. This poor woman had to walk overnight,
in the dark, 8 hours, to get help for her baby. And then, because it was Vanuatu’s Independence Day, there
wasn’t a doctor at the hospital, so then she had to wait for a doctor to show
up in order to do surgery on her baby.
I just had to walk outside after that. I found a bench and sat down and thanked God for allowing my
children wonderful access to great doctors and hospital facilities. And I tried to just breathe. It’s difficult to put into words
everything that I was feeling…for the baby, Priscilla, the families, the nurses
and doctors…I’m still processing that part, I think.
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