It's SteeTime!

I am featuring a series of a brave ordeal a friend of mine, Sarah Na'matovu, whom I went to medical school with, went through a few years ago. Her writing touched my heart. This story is about her heart. Heart surgery to be exact. This is the third and final part of her account. 7 May 2011 (cont) The nurse taking care of me was all about doctor's orders, that my request for pethidine fell on deaf ears. So that night I kept dosing off for about 10-20minutes per a hour. Most of the time I was up because of the pain. The next shift of nurses came in at 8am the next morning. There was this really nice nurse, all smiles. I saw an opportunity here and I siezed it (I was really in alot of pain). When she asked me how I had spent the night, I told her I had not slept and could she please give me a shot of pethidine. God bless her, she gave IT to me. The next thing I remember is being woken up for lunch which I wanted to pass in favour of sleep. The all-serious nurse came ba...

A 27 year old female patient was admitted into one of our wards at a state hospital in Harare. Brenda* was diagnosed with Infective Endocarditis . This means she had a vegetative growth on her heart valves which could lead to heart failure and other complications. I have to explain that the investigation to make this diagnosis is an expensive one. One that Brenda could not afford. Our medical team managed to get it done for free, sort of a social services waiver. Not everyone is lucky enough to be granted such favours. The treatment for Infective Endocarditis, besides treating heart failure, is 14 days of intravenous antibiotics. Just 14. And because it is intravenous, the patient has to stay in the wards to receive the injections. But Brenda couldn’t stay for all those days. She had 5 young children at home, abandoned by their father and starving. It had been Brenda’s responsibility to collect food vouchers for the children from a food-donor organization. So she requested to lea...

When you google 'Oncology in Africa' these are the article titles which come up on the first page: Cancer in Africa: Fighting a nameless Enemy   Cancer in Africa is like a 'Runaway train'   Oncology: A Forgotten Territory in Africa Cancer is so mystical in Africa that in the 2000 to 3000 languages in Africa, there is no vernacular word with direct translation for 'cancer'. In Africa, the incidence of cancer is increasing, but it remains a low public health priority because resources are limited and there are other pressing medical problems, such as AIDS/HIV infection, malaria, and tuberculosis. Most of the efforts and helps provided by the Western countries to Africa are spent to prevent and cure infectious diseases and malnutrition, leaving the patients with cancer to their poor destiny. In fact, oncology in Africa seems to be a branch of the medicine that is practiced only by the local traditional he...

The harrowing recollection of my friend Sarah after heart surgery: 7 May 2011 (cont) Havent got to the worst part......... the respirator was disconnected from the tube and an Ambu-bag connected instead. As the air was manually and forcefully pumped into the tube, it was like a plastic bag had been placed over my head and I was being suffocated to death. I kicked and I think I grabbed and pulled at one of the nurses several times.  must have bruised her!! I was frustrated and desperate, I was crying but without sound, ( this is very frustrating because it doesnot achieve the desired goal). At that moment I realised that asking for paper would be my only way out. Onto the paper I wrote, "You are suffocating me!" I say wrote but am not sure that what I did on paper can exactly be called writing. I was very drowsy, I could barely make out the shapes of the nurses' heads. I had to think the letters of a word and place them on paper. It is undoubtful that some letters ...

I am featuring a series of a brave ordeal a friend of mine, Sarah Na'matovu, whom I went to medical school with, went through a few years ago. Her writing touched my heart. This story is about her heart. Heart surgery to be exact.  April 1 2011 After eight hours of surgery, I wake up and am like, "Oh, I am alive, I made it through!" So I'm almost smiling but I have this thing in my throat and am asking the nurse to take it out, she says, "Don't talk." I motion for her to give me pen and paper to write. I don't know what I write because I am drowsy but the next thing I know the airway tube is out as well as the NG-tube. I have tubes going in all orifices of my body!  Meanwhile I am thinking to myself that surgery is not so bad or that scary after all. 30 minutes later the anesthesia is wearing off fast. Suddenly I can feel every incision. Every nip and tuck. Every suture they had made on my heart and sternum. I start moaning in pain....