There are many good reasons to travel to developing countries. There are also those reasons that make us stop and think. At that point our mind takes over and we are shown images of fear and uncertainty. Images that we had seen on the news, in the newspapers or heard it from others. Suddenly all those good reasons vanish and we’re left with one final decision.
The world that is presented to us is painted based on our perception. That perception is shaped according to our experiences, or the moments we choose to experience. I personally wanted to experience surgery in a rural setting. I wanted to see the effect of medicine within its limits, I wanted to understand the impact this had on the patients.
My quest took me to the border of India and Bangladesh, a small place called Makunda district. Within the district I found a small hospital, run by a surgeon and his anaesthetist wife. They employed seven other doctors and treated over 90,000 patients each year. This is their story.
The climate is different and at times unbearable. Yet each morning at 6am the medical staff make their way to the hospital. Many had worked overnight dealing with cases such as caesarean sections, emergency abdominal operations or paediatric management. The patients arrive from all walks of life. Some take on a month long journey to arrive to the hospital in times of need. Many have end stage disease where no cure exists. Yet they remain optimistic. They remain thankful for the care offered to them. They wait for days until their turn for a small dose of medicine.
I will start this 3 part blog describing a moment which changed my views of medicine and surgery and life in general. It is a moment a father spent with his dying son. The baby boy was born prematurely with heart and lung failure. He spent three days in neonatal intensive care, requiring intubation and oxygenation. On the third day he was starting to give up. It was as though I was witnessing the death of the will to live. Each breath became more painful, a struggle. The father looked to me, the western doctor, to save his baby. I had no X-ray, no medications. I wasn’t able to offer any help. In the final moments I desperately tried to bag-and-mask knowing very well what was coming our way. I decided instead of continuing my unsuccessful attempts, I would let the father spend these final moments with his son. An experience that brought me to tears.
Moments like these make you question your role as a doctor. At what time do we allow life to take its course? What importance do we place on the final few breaths? And how do we cope when that moment is over? I tried to understand his pain. I thought every type of pain was the same, just experienced in different intensity. However, the pain of losing a child can’t possibly be understood, only experienced. An experience I hope no parent would have to go through.
Even at times like these, the father remained optimistic. He had to as he had three other children which depended on him. He thanked the staff and made his long journey back home.
The following day the medical staff once again made their way to the hospital. I came to find another moment that challenged every surgical skill I had ever learned. A moment I will describe to you next time. I’ll leave you with a thought. It is said that life is all about experiences. How can we use the experience of pain to channel happiness within our lives?
Until next week.