There are some things which make you believe in human resilience and determination. There are some things which make you cringe at the excesses of "developed" societies and a wish to beat into them a realisation of how lucky they are.
I worked for MSF in Nepal in 2006. The reason for the mission was to provide medical services to a population affected by conflict, deep in the heartland of Maoist controlled mid-west Nepal. In reality, these subsistence populations were not so much disadvantaged by conflict as by location, living on precipitous and remote mountains, reachable only on foot and subsisting only on what they can grow or barter.
MSF provided a clinic, built from rocks hewn from the ground, plastered in buffalo dung and mud and equipped with basic drugs which were portered up from the nearest airstrip 10 hours walk away. We had no oxygen, unreliable electricity and were located at the very top of a hill on top of a mountain an hour walk from the nearest village. Our catchment area extended to cover 15 or so villages, located up to 5 days walk from the clinic. Patients came to us on foot or in a doko (basket adapted to accommodate a fully-grown adult and carried by a head-strap by a porter).
One day I was asked by one of the health workers to assess a 1-year old boy suffering a chest infection and severe malnutrition. Twig-like arms and legs shuddered with every breath as he lay in the arms of his 7-year old sister who had carried him from a village 5 hours away. Given his frail state and high chance of mortality we advised that he be admitted to our in-patient room at least overnight, however his sister tearfully refused, explaining that her parents would be too worried about her if she did not return directly to the village and that she could not leave the infant with us as her parents would be angry. Que garni? as they say in Nepali, what to do? We prescribed and dispensed vitamin A, antibiotics, worming tablets, supplementary nutrition, oral rehydration sachets, paracetamol and iron tablets, taking care to explain the regime to the illiterate girl, stressing the importance of completing the treatment and beseaching her to bring the child back if he deteriorated and to come back in a week for reassessment if he was improving.
Watching the small figures diminishing down the rutted goat track to their village we felt little hope that we would see him again.
One week later, the girl presented to the clinic, in her arms squirmed a babbling smiling child. She showed us the empty packets of tablets, explained how she had given them all on the prescribed schedule, crushing the tablets, mixing them with dhal, painstakingly spooning the mixture into her brother, sitting with him at night to watch him. That little girl saved his life. I hugged her, thanked her, praised her and sent her off again on a 5-hour walk back to her village.
I worked for MSF in Nepal in 2006. The reason for the mission was to provide medical services to a population affected by conflict, deep in the heartland of Maoist controlled mid-west Nepal. In reality, these subsistence populations were not so much disadvantaged by conflict as by location, living on precipitous and remote mountains, reachable only on foot and subsisting only on what they can grow or barter.
MSF provided a clinic, built from rocks hewn from the ground, plastered in buffalo dung and mud and equipped with basic drugs which were portered up from the nearest airstrip 10 hours walk away. We had no oxygen, unreliable electricity and were located at the very top of a hill on top of a mountain an hour walk from the nearest village. Our catchment area extended to cover 15 or so villages, located up to 5 days walk from the clinic. Patients came to us on foot or in a doko (basket adapted to accommodate a fully-grown adult and carried by a head-strap by a porter).
One day I was asked by one of the health workers to assess a 1-year old boy suffering a chest infection and severe malnutrition. Twig-like arms and legs shuddered with every breath as he lay in the arms of his 7-year old sister who had carried him from a village 5 hours away. Given his frail state and high chance of mortality we advised that he be admitted to our in-patient room at least overnight, however his sister tearfully refused, explaining that her parents would be too worried about her if she did not return directly to the village and that she could not leave the infant with us as her parents would be angry. Que garni? as they say in Nepali, what to do? We prescribed and dispensed vitamin A, antibiotics, worming tablets, supplementary nutrition, oral rehydration sachets, paracetamol and iron tablets, taking care to explain the regime to the illiterate girl, stressing the importance of completing the treatment and beseaching her to bring the child back if he deteriorated and to come back in a week for reassessment if he was improving.
Watching the small figures diminishing down the rutted goat track to their village we felt little hope that we would see him again.
One week later, the girl presented to the clinic, in her arms squirmed a babbling smiling child. She showed us the empty packets of tablets, explained how she had given them all on the prescribed schedule, crushing the tablets, mixing them with dhal, painstakingly spooning the mixture into her brother, sitting with him at night to watch him. That little girl saved his life. I hugged her, thanked her, praised her and sent her off again on a 5-hour walk back to her village.
No comments:
Post a Comment