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Another day in the life....
When I was working in Azerbaijan I encountered many challenges. Not least of these was the day a Pakistani man brought his son to see me. The problem, he explained candidly, was that his son had been circumcised in Pakistan some weeks before and there was a plastic ring around his penis which the surgeon had informed him would fall off naturally after a couple of weeks. The ring had not fallen off and the father hoped that I would be able to resolve the issue. This young lad of 3 years of age lay on the examination bed very calmly as I examined, and stood back to contemplate the issue. Sure enough, tightly constricting this little boys little appendage was a thick plastic ring which by now was causing swelling and some obvious discomfort. I was somewhat dumbfounded, which as those who know me, is not a very common situation.
In the meantime, I was trying by phone to resolve the issue of another Pakistani lady who had collapsed when confronted by a dog, who by all accounts was perfectly friendly and was wanting to make her acquaintance, but she, suffering a morbid fear of dogs, felt it fitting to fall faint to the floor suffering some injury which necessitated an MRI scan to fully reassure the patient of the unlikeliness of her imminent death. While at the hospital she became quite hysterical and the nurse with her had rung me to say that she was now unconscious and unresponsive and they were rushing her back to the clinic for me to resuscitate her. It crossed my mind that as she was already at a hospital, perhaps resuscitation would be better undertaken there rather than bringing her back through tortuous, congested one-way streets to me.
The father of the little boy with his ring where a ring should not be, at least not at that tender age, was insistent that I should speak to the surgeon in Pakistan who had done the procedure. Cheerily the surgeon informed me by phone, in a lilting, melodic Pakistani accent, that I should just cut it off ... the ring that is, although given that the appendage to which it was firmly stuck was little bigger than a baked bean and the ring was of hard thick plastic I had visions of disaster. Not being one to shirk from my responsibilities, I took the smallest scissors and clamps I could find, carefully positioning clamps between the ring and the shaft while the young boy lay there still as a statue with tears running down his face. I was mid-way though cutting through the ring, swearing soundly to myself through gritted teeth, when my hysterical unconscious patient was brought with great drama back into the emergency room with staff yelling, puffing and sweating and the lady twitching melodramatically. As she was wheeled past me in a flurry I was able to note that she was breathing which was enough sign of life for me to try to concentrate back on the delicate task at hand. "Oh dear me, that is my neighbour" said the father of the boy as he leaned back over to watch what I was doing. I managed to cut through the ring, remove it without Bobbitting the boy and step across to the other bed as my other patient roused from her swoon and starting crying loudly about the fearfulness of dogs.
Just another day in the life of the International Doctor of Mystery. Life in Ghana has been less dramatic. Of the 2 snake-bites we have treated, neither has sustained more than a superficial scratch. The victims of occupational injury have suffered cut fingers. The acute collapses have fainted or have been suffering a severe case of hangover, apart from the one poor gentleman who had suffered a stroke. I examine feverish children, dispense bottles of paracetemol syrup and write prescriptions for malaria prophylaxis or lab requests for malaria tests.
It's now the beginning of Harmattan, the time of year that microscopic particles of the Sahara make their way across to the coast and create a thick pall through which the sun barely penetrates. The joys of West Africa. 
In the meantime, I was trying by phone to resolve the issue of another Pakistani lady who had collapsed when confronted by a dog, who by all accounts was perfectly friendly and was wanting to make her acquaintance, but she, suffering a morbid fear of dogs, felt it fitting to fall faint to the floor suffering some injury which necessitated an MRI scan to fully reassure the patient of the unlikeliness of her imminent death. While at the hospital she became quite hysterical and the nurse with her had rung me to say that she was now unconscious and unresponsive and they were rushing her back to the clinic for me to resuscitate her. It crossed my mind that as she was already at a hospital, perhaps resuscitation would be better undertaken there rather than bringing her back through tortuous, congested one-way streets to me. 
The father of the little boy with his ring where a ring should not be, at least not at that tender age, was insistent that I should speak to the surgeon in Pakistan who had done the procedure. Cheerily the surgeon informed me by phone, in a lilting, melodic Pakistani accent, that I should just cut it off ... the ring that is, although given that the appendage to which it was firmly stuck was little bigger than a baked bean and the ring was of hard thick plastic I had visions of disaster. Not being one to shirk from my responsibilities, I took the smallest scissors and clamps I could find, carefully positioning clamps between the ring and the shaft while the young boy lay there still as a statue with tears running down his face. I was mid-way though cutting through the ring, swearing soundly to myself through gritted teeth, when my hysterical unconscious patient was brought with great drama back into the emergency room with staff yelling, puffing and sweating and the lady twitching melodramatically. As she was wheeled past me in a flurry I was able to note that she was breathing which was enough sign of life for me to try to concentrate back on the delicate task at hand. "Oh dear me, that is my neighbour" said the father of the boy as he leaned back over to watch what I was doing. I managed to cut through the ring, remove it without Bobbitting the boy and step across to the other bed as my other patient roused from her swoon and starting crying loudly about the fearfulness of dogs. 
Just another day in the life of the International Doctor of Mystery. Life in Ghana has been less dramatic. Of the 2 snake-bites we have treated, neither has sustained more than a superficial scratch. The victims of occupational injury have suffered cut fingers. The acute collapses have fainted or have been suffering a severe case of hangover, apart from the one poor gentleman who had suffered a stroke. I examine feverish children, dispense bottles of paracetemol syrup and write prescriptions for malaria prophylaxis or lab requests for malaria tests. 
It's now the beginning of Harmattan, the time of year that microscopic particles of the Sahara make their way across to the coast and create a thick pall through which the sun barely penetrates. The joys of West Africa. 
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