No Escape

Yesterday we meandered down to the Nurse's Station here at the Living Quarters.

The 3 sickly young. One gracious interpreter. One weary momma.

It began simply.

Here's the list of symptoms for each patient....

Here's the Momma trying to be respectful of all our neighbors who are so concerned and patiently listing all the symptoms but secretly wishing she'd just been wiser and given them all tylenol and sent them off to bed...

Beyond my error in going there...I did not get Magpie dosed with tylenol in time...and the longer we sat at the nurse's station...her fever began to rise.

By the time it was measured by a thermometer under the arm...it was too late.

Magpie had a fever.

This automatically bounced the medical case out of the court of the nurse and immediate recommendations were made to get to the hospital to see a Doctor.

I suggested that no, I thought I might just put her back to bed with some medicine I had...and that if her condition worsened I would, of course, get her immediately to the hospital.

In the time it took me to say it...and for the translation to be uttered others were involved in the medical crisis others, from the company were on the phone wanting to speak with me to assure me that a reservation was being made at the local hospital to receive us immediately and to usher us through the process!

What is a Momma to do?

Worse yet...what does a Momma, living in a cross-cultural setting, do to use her own judgement and yet honor the practices of the culture in which she's hosted?

We went home...

To get our passports and identification cards before the car arrived to take us to the hospital.

I reasoned on the 30 minute drive there that even though I knew my kids only needed rest and some fever reducer...that this opportunity would allow me to be initiated into the world of "seeking medical attention" at a point in time where there was no real emergency. This chance allowed me to "get my feet wet"...so to speak.

We arrived into the "Urgency Room" (this was the translation on the sign.)

We were greeted by 7, fresh-faced nurses standing behind the intake counter. We could tell they were nurses because they were all in formal dress. Uniformed from head to toe in matching shades of lavender and white dresses, complete with the old-style nurses' hat.

I gave them the affected children's names and we were asked to sit and wait for a moment.

While there we could see into the "urgency room." A gurney wheeled past us with a bandaged-headed woman, presumably her adult daughter and husband looking fearfully on her state. The husband's blue shirt was marred with heavy bloodstains on the shoulder and forearm of his left side.

This alarmed the young.

Then we were summoned.

The nurses were going to separate our pack and take Potato and I one direction while sending Magpie and The Bug off with the Ayi to another area of the hospital. This would not suffice. So we quickly launched a new plan...we would complete the first area...then go to the next.

Magpie's concerns began to grow as we walked up the initial two flights of stairs (16 stairs each.) She was uncertain what fate awaited her at this place where there were cigarette buts in the hallways and staircases. (I thought...when you come to the hospital...you had best be able bodied, there didn't seem to be too many services on the ground floor for your initial intake.)

Then we reached a great open area with seating for the masses and enormous screens displaying directions to and from the different areas to obtain care.

We arrived in the pediatric ward.

We went into a room that said "intake" and stood with 4-5 other parent/kid combos waiting to see who I presumed was the Doctor seated at the desk in the room.

Once Magpie and The Bug's symptoms were translated, they were ordered to sit on the gurney in the back of the room.

This got a little crazy for me because the gurney had a sheet on it that had clearly been there a minimum of ALL DAY and every child was told to sit then lie down on it for examination.

We conversed with a lady who brought in her darling 4 month old son for a "well baby" exam...and he was examined right on the same sheet as my 8 year old daughter who had a temperature of 102.

There was a broken vial in the sink there in the room.

I don't think the Doctor washed her hands in-between patients.

(Now I know that people in North America are germ-freaks. I really don't consider myself one of those and certainly if you've ever visited my home you know that I'm not a germ-freak. In fact I celebrated the day I read a news article that said children raised in "less than clean" homes were in fact, healthier, due to the challenges to their immune systems within the household. ...But this pushed a few buttons for me...and I began to pray that my kids wouldn't head out with anything more than they carried in.)

It was pronounced that we should then have the children's blood tested.

Two more flights of stairs brought us up to the Blood Room. This room resembles the waiting room at the utility company or the DMV where you sit and wait until you're summoned to a numbered plexi-glass window to handle your business.

It wasn't clear how the blood was being taken...and then we saw....


********** L - E - E - C - H - E - S !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ******













No, not really. :)

Actually, they pricked the kids' fingers and bled them into a little vial.

The phlebotomist (don't know if that's what they're called here) wore no gloves.

We then were told to "wait a moment for blood report."

Magpie was teary from her fever and becoming all the more paranoid as FOUR technicians huddled around her blood sample and the computer issuing the report.

She said... "For heaven's sake...surely they've seen O Positive blood before!?"

Upon obtaining the papers...that the nurse assigned to us carried in an important file...we reported back to the Pediatric office.

It was determined that the children likely had a virus and they were each given about 4 different prescriptions for a combo of eastern & western medicine.

We then reported back to "go."

We did not collect $200 dollars.

We then were dispatched with the same friendly nurse (after being given a refreshing glass of hot water) to the dermatology ward.

Potato has had a serious flare up of hives these past two days. She's always one for skin troubles, but this time the hives were huge welts from head to toe.

Up three flights of stairs to the Dermatology wing...

Somehow we were the only patients to arrive there at first. So we were taken into the Doctor's room immediately. As we sat there, several other patients arrived. The population of the room swelled to an additional 15 interested bystanders who were fascinated with the foreigners and their local-looking, fluent-English child with the red bumps.

The audience one has with the doctor is right there, in the open.

The complete patient history is given orally in front of the literal peanut gallery and then the patient is in various stages of undress while he/she shows, in this case, the nasty little skin issues that have afflicted him/her.

(I'm so glad I read the book "Foreign to Familiar" written by a wise woman who has traveled the word and categorizes cultures as Hot/Cold. I was reminded of my being hosted in a Hot culture here...where personal privacy with a doctor would be never be considered important. )

15 extra pairs of eyes looked on and oohed-aahed with amazement at Potato's medical condition. It was surely a change from the Dickson Medical Clinic and Radio Studio we've grown to love over the past several years!

The doctor pronounced that Potato should not eat eggs, milk (without being boiled then cooled) and seafood. The doctor said that the hives have nothing to do with the addition of the new cats (how I hope that is true) and she prescribed an anti-itch cream.

After 20 minutes a pharmacist/nurse/technician produced two little jars (totally looking like they got the jars from a Mary Kay overstock sale) with an "anti-itch" cream for Potato in them.

We quickly went back down to Urgency. (I think I may always call it the Urgency room now...)

Then we were presented with three papers that needed to be filled out in total including all our contact info, insurance info and particulars about the children. AT THE END OF THE HOSPITAL VISIT.

While I was writing the same information over time after time (with only single-child families no one has ever heard of writing "SEE PATIENT XYZ FILE FOR INFO" on the top of the additional kids' forms) I looked into an ante-room of the Urgency Area. I puzzled at the fact that there was a gurney (that looked like it was from a 1930's movie set) stripped bare and a single shoe sitting in the middle of the room. How I regretted that I didn't take my camera with my passport before leaving the apartment! A single shoe....it appeared to be like one of the goulashes that my grandfather used to put over his dress shoes. A single shoe...in an otherwise highly populated area of the hospital...in the middle of a room with a gurney waiting for action.

Who left it there? Why had no one moved it yet?

We finally returned home after a four-hour trip to the hospital.

I nestled the young into their beds and notified them that they would be home from school tomorrow to rest and recuperate.

I myself went to bed thankful for caring co-workers, ready medical care that expands our sense of "correct" and a deep realization that expectations are houses we build in our psyches on sand...

...though everything if different...I am secure in the knowledge that He is constant.