i is for illness
This is an easy one. Malaria-carrying mosquitoes apparently like the taste of my blood. (Actually, they like the taste of everyone's blood, except Pastor Al's.) My favorite malaria memory is Bob laughing when he heard that I got malaria for the first time...eight days after I arrived. It was nice proof that you really can get malaria from Kampala - it's not just a rural disease!
(Oddly enough, I was always faithful about taking my anti-malarial drugs. I tend to be a little too lackadaisical about taking medicine sometimes.)
My first experience with how deadly malaria is was soon after I got to Karamoja. Martha and I were hanging out in one of the villages, and started talking to a woman whose baby was very ill; his skin was pale and i got a cold feeling up and down my spine as I looked at him - he really looked like he was dying. Martha told the woman to bring him to the clinic right away and she, Martha, would pay. So instead of having a Bible study as we'd planned, another woman (Joyce?) and this woman and her baby and Martha and I all trooped back through the hot sun. Martha got the van and gave everyone a ride down to the clinic.
Segal David, the head medical officer, was on duty and immediately went to work. He had the mother (really just a young girl) use a razor blade to shave off a patch of the baby's hair so he could insert an IV.
I wanted very much to watch Segal save this baby's life, but when he was getting out the needle I had to go sit down on a bench with my head on my knees...apparently I am not cut out for watching medical procedures. At least when they involve small children. The IV was inserted successfully, though, and the baby started getting some fluids to counteract his severe dehydration.
That was on the greatest things I've ever seen, I think: the gift of medicine at work. I know the story didn't have a happy ending; the poor mother had waited too long, there was nothing that could be done, and a few days later this baby died. It makes me very grateful, though, for the work of the clinic and for the probably hundreds of lives they've saved since opening in 2001 or 2002.
(Oddly enough, I was always faithful about taking my anti-malarial drugs. I tend to be a little too lackadaisical about taking medicine sometimes.)
My first experience with how deadly malaria is was soon after I got to Karamoja. Martha and I were hanging out in one of the villages, and started talking to a woman whose baby was very ill; his skin was pale and i got a cold feeling up and down my spine as I looked at him - he really looked like he was dying. Martha told the woman to bring him to the clinic right away and she, Martha, would pay. So instead of having a Bible study as we'd planned, another woman (Joyce?) and this woman and her baby and Martha and I all trooped back through the hot sun. Martha got the van and gave everyone a ride down to the clinic.
Segal David, the head medical officer, was on duty and immediately went to work. He had the mother (really just a young girl) use a razor blade to shave off a patch of the baby's hair so he could insert an IV.
I wanted very much to watch Segal save this baby's life, but when he was getting out the needle I had to go sit down on a bench with my head on my knees...apparently I am not cut out for watching medical procedures. At least when they involve small children. The IV was inserted successfully, though, and the baby started getting some fluids to counteract his severe dehydration.
That was on the greatest things I've ever seen, I think: the gift of medicine at work. I know the story didn't have a happy ending; the poor mother had waited too long, there was nothing that could be done, and a few days later this baby died. It makes me very grateful, though, for the work of the clinic and for the probably hundreds of lives they've saved since opening in 2001 or 2002.
posted by Amanda at
4:21 PM
|
1 comments
