Chapter 20: Creature Crawling in Abdomen
American Hero
Dr. Dan chewed
gum and diagnosed all my patients quickly and decisively, confidently
suggesting treatment appropriate to a Third World situation. I cursed
Philippe for making me show him round - I just wasn't impressive enough.
"But
you will soon be his boss, yes? Dr. Emily, the Medical Superintendent
of Serabu 'ospital," Philippe had teased, before trotting off to
Outpatients. Dan and I continued our rounds.
The first
three cases on Surgical had nasty wound infections. I knew they were
all excusable given the poor condition they had been in on arrival and
yes, they would all heal eventually, but it just didn't look good. Dan
stayed tactfully quiet - until Ansumana.
"Ansumana
fell out of a palm tree sustaining multiple intestinal perforations.
Somehow he survived three days walk to the hospital," I told Dan.
"When he reached us, he was septicaemic with a grossly distended
belly."
"Really?
Well ain't that amazing he's alive?" Dan enthused.
"Yes,
isn't it," I preened. "It was tricky surgery, especially in
a moribund patient."
Keen to show
off my handiwork, I pulled off the dressing with a flourish. "Oh
no!"
"Gee,
what's that orange stuff and white flaky bits?"
The gauze
dressing was soaked orange with palm oil and grains of half-digested
rice oozed between the stitches. Having your patient's dinner coming
directly out of the wound was not a good way to advertise your surgical
skills. I was speechless.
"Hey
girl, even with proper equipment, anaesthetic and a real surgeon in
the States, he might never have made it." The newcomer slapped
me encouragingly on the back and continued to chew his gum, no doubt
wondering what sort of place he had come to.
Why couldn't
I find a miracle recovery to show him? Jeneba for instance, or Christiana?
Like the rest of us, Dan hadn't had any surgical experience before coming
to Africa, and with three cases scheduled that morning, I was going
to have to teach him. Or rather Tiange was.
"This
is Tiange, Dan. She'll teach you everything you need to know about surgery."
"Real
pleased to meet you, Tiange." Dan stepped forward and firmly shook
her hand. Tiange actually smiled. How did Dan manage that?
"You
don't mess with Tiange, our queen of theatre," I whispered to Dan
as we scrubbed up.
"I'll
remember that."
"Last
week Tiange asked a patient five times if he was chewing gum. He denied
it every time, despite her dire warnings of what could happen if he
inhaled it whilst under unconscious under anaesthetic. When he woke
up, she had plastered the gum across his forehead."
"I'm
real glad I spat mine out," Dan laughed. "Where's the antiseptic?"
"We
just have that bar of soap. Usually we don't have as many post-operative
wound infections
"
"Hmm."
Dan was not convinced. "Tell me about our patient today."
"A lady
with a large abdominal swelling. She's quite elderly, although no one
really knows how old they are here. Saloneans measure time by today,
tomorrow and yesterday, or wet or dry season."
"So
what do you think? An ovarian cyst"
"Probably.
Just last week, I removed cysts the size of basketballs from two separate
patients."
"Gee!
That's amazing."
Pleased that
at last I had the chance to impress Dan, I made a confident incision
in the abdominal wall. Separating the sides of the wound with my hands,
we looked inside. The nature of the mass became quite, quite obvious.
"She
get belly!" Tiange exclaimed.
"She
must be nearly six months pregnant!" echoed Dan.
Gulping back
tears of humiliation whilst Dan and the nurses gulped back tears of
laughter, I closed the wound without disturbing the foetus any further.
Tiange reassured the patient, who was still awake under a spinal, that
her pregnancy would proceed quite normally. The patient, apparently
unconcerned, asked why we didn't just remove it as she already had eight
children.
Once we were
finished, Dan picked up her Outpatient card and succumbed to helpless
guffaws. Embarrassed, I snatched the card from him to see what had caused
such mirth.
The presenting
complaint read: Creature crawling in abdomen.