5 deaths in 24 hours. It's astounding. You sit there watching the tidal wave flow over the hospital as if someone poisoned the formula. And the problem starts when you begin to hope for a miracle. I have really invested my heart and soul to children that come knocking on death's door and wonder why they don't survive. I already know that parents bring in children too late using hospitals, often times, as a place for their child to die. But when I look at a child, and their eyes still open, and they are even able to produce a tiny smile, I start to hope and wonder if they have enough left to fight.
Skin and bones. Sometimes that is all they are left with. When I can visualize the skeleton that makes us human, I know we are nearing the end. So I started slow. I talked with mom. I looked at the child who sat up and I thought...maybe we have a chance. Mother so desperately wanted to feed her child, but the crazy twist is that now "food" may be her enemy. Her system is so sensitive that even the slightest off balance can kill her. So. We started slow. We tried hydration. We even started with slow feeds. I saw her start to perk up. My heart even started to have faith. She stood up with her legs made of bone trying to hold herself. I told the mother to continue this regimen all night and not to change. These children can fool you. And she did. The next day she was dead. Just like that. I knew from the start that the chances were slim, but the hope still comes seeping out from some unknown place.
Gasping. Walking by an unknown bed I see this child. His eyes are opened wide trying to get in any air that he can. I stop to ask what his story is realizing the seriousness of his state. Looking through the notes, I realize that he has received the bare minimum to survive. Luckily there was oxygen. I immediately got an xray and a tested him...both positive for TB and HIV. The poor child had been suffering for weeks...and nothing. I gave him the thumbs up sign and he smiled through his gasps. We started treatment immediately. The next day he sat up in bed trying to breath through all the fluid that was filling his lungs. He looked at me and told me he was tired. I talked to him. An hour later I gave him chest compressions only to pronounce him dead. We were too late. It is so difficult to watch a child drown and have nothing to give them. Nothing.
Fever. Such a common complaint. But a fever to a cancer patient always raises my eyebrow. Laying on the bench, I knew this child was sick. We rushed him to the treatment room and started an IV line. He was so thirsty. We kept giving him water. He was breathing fast and so hot that we gave him antibiotics and sent him for a chest xray. I called his oncologist in South Africa who advised me on the limited drugs we had and to call him if he got worse. My next call was to tell him that he was gone. I had heard the mother wailing and rushed to the bedside. His heart had already let go. I held his hand and tears rolled down. I could not hold it in any longer. He was not supposed to go. He was only 6 years old. I held the mother crying with her. It is not ok.
And this is only one day. 24 hours. I sat just lost. Brain on protective numb mode. I hugged my counselor who has stood by my side through all of this. She has been my back bone. Doing work that others are supposed to do but not willing. Hugging me when she saw the tears drop. Crying with me when we could not seem to understand the day any longer.
As I was walking out a baby caught my eye. She cooed with her eyes fixated on my face. I walked over and picked her up. She fell comfortably in my arms. A smile melted onto her face and she slowly closed her eyes. I stood rocking her for a bit smiling at mother. My backbone side kick still with me at 6:30pm after everyone has left talking to the mother in Sesotho about how well her child was doing. The next day I sent her home from the hospital, with her child in hand.
Maybe there is a reason for all of this. Maybe we do save one out of the many that make it here. But my heart does not seem to fixate on the one I save. It only charges at those that I cannot. Death is inevitable. I know. But when you are 6 months, 6 years, 12 years, I can't seem to think it is right. Not for them. They all have a chance. They all need a fighting chance. And they need someone that will fight for them. Until the end.
I am here. But when I face a day like today...it really strikes my core. What am I doing? Am I even doing it right? Do I have a fighting chance? I am not ready to give up the battle, but I can't seem to do this fight on my own. I need change. A new hospital. A government that cares to supply adequate medicine. A community that understands that hospitals can be ok if we have the two former in place. A staff that cares to work. Enough doctors to care for the children. No. I can't do this fight on my own with all of those stacked behind me.
Today was a hard day....
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