MORE OUTREACH....CRAZY

Crazy poster in Yele

More Out Reach…. Crazy

On day two of the Out Reach, Stephanie said that it would be helpful to know the ages of the patients and Abraham and I decided we would make that a part of our job.  The first woman I asked (having had to guess the spelling of the name since she didn’t know) looked about 45 or so.  “how old are you?”  I asked and Abraham interpreted.  She said something, he responded, she said more, so did he.  They were having a regular conversation and I was wondering just how the number system worked  here.  Then the lady walked over to the door which Ron had commanded shut because people kept sneaking in and stealing a spot, and opened it and yelled out.  I asked Abraham, “what is she doing??? All I wanted was to know how old she is!!”.  “Oh, she’s asking her family.  She doesn’t know.”  He said this in a matter of fact way, so I realized this is a common occurrence.  She was born in the year of the Big Rain, was her final answer.  I wrote down 45.  Another lady who had to be 60 answered the age question confidently with “age:32” to which I replied, “and so am I sister, so am I.”  Crazy.

Abraham registers patients with help of Kariatu, (pink)

my old reading glasses on a "32" yr old

Here’s a thing about Out Reach that you must know.  Taking temperatures is really not a big deal…usually.  We had digital thermometers that we used under armpits instead of mouths, so once we had a name and complaints, I’d move in for the temperature.  Babies, having never been so close to such a white person (and getting whiter in that dark, unlit building day after day)  thought we were ghosts, and they would often cry.  Adults, trying to be helpful would just whip up their shirts right as I was leaning in to get the device in place.  I would’ve sworn some folks had a gland that sprayed pit odor right at me.  Then, women of any age or shape would just stand there all exposed until the ‘beep beep beep’ of the thermometer would give them leave to pull their shirt down.  All I could do is laugh at my own inhibitions, and move on to the next crazy adventure in registration.  Also, I vote for ear thermometers for next visit. 

The Paramount Chief....Yele

Ideally we wanted to leave Makeni at 8 each day of the Out Reach, but 9:30 seemed to be our calling.  That means we’d arrive around 11, set up and get on with the day.  We packed Fiber One bars and such for lunch, and I realized that even that was bonus living.  Abraham, Shaq (Stephanie’s nickname for O’neil) and Abdul just went with us.  They didn’t pack a stash of food and water, they just were there.  These three young men have our hearts for all their cheerfulness, kindness and service.  Not to mention some mean games of SPOONs. 

squatty potty

The Paramount Chief (like the governor of village chiefs in that region) lived in Yele and had someone bring in rice (of course) and some spicy sauce which a taste told me was hot and yummy, but probably not the best choice for me to eat.  He was grateful that we came to serve his people and we were grateful for his hospitality.  It’s nice when a plan comes together.  And we were always bummed at 4:00 when we knew we had to see the last 10 or 15 people because we had to pack up and be back to the hospital by 6:30 because none of us wanted to ride in the dark.  One dilemma was whether we could wait to go to the bathroom upon our return (and if the answer was yes, we surely weren’t drinking enough water) because our option was the “squatty potty”.  Yup, they had to padlock the door shut to this deluxe unit.  Etiquette said that we should take a teapot of water in to rinse the floor after we were done.  At least the girls did.  Guys always have it easier in these situations.  

First customers. 

waiting

Early on, one lady came in with a child. (in the pink turban above) She had typical symptoms, and had some concerns for her child.  Never once did she mention the huge tumor that was growing in her face. 

knee man

With hundreds waiting outside, Ron would open the door and let in ten people at a time.  Now that meant 10 adults, and usually there were multiple children with them.  I think after a while moms would start sending in their kids with someone else just so they could be seen.  When the door would open there would be a roar of noise, people pressing to the front, desperate to get in, because to get in meant help.  We tried a number system, but that was not successful after a short time.  I laughed once to look up and see Ron trying to get the doors shut as people pressed in, and a little woman crawled through his legs like a runner making it to home plate.  Ron was bellowing, “A little help here!!!”  When the crowd started feeling more mobbish, I vascillated between aching for their desperation and irritation at their lack of regard for how we were trying to get them in as best we could.  It’s a psychotic thing to deal with these intense situations and I’m not entirely pleased with the rawness of my own reactions.  May God’s mercy cover us all. 

crazy knee (before draining)

We couldn't see them all.  But we tried.

One young man came in with a massively swollen knee.  Mike Karr got to pull off like a liter of fluid, and it still look giant.  Mike also got to stitch up a lip and do all kinds of things EMT’s don’t normally do.  Abraham, my interpreter, eventually started registering people on his own.  Every now and then I’d pass the hand sanitizer and smile.  He loved helping this way, and a few times when I’d see him pulling down eyelids looking for signs of malaria,  I had to remind him that WE were not diagnosing.  What a hoot.  Meanwhile O’neil was in with Stephanie and Dean interpreting more than their comments… he was initiating health education.  In one situation Stephanie asked if the mother was still nursing the child.  To answer, the mother picked up her breast and gave it a squeeze.  Much to everyone’s surprise milk shot across the room and splatted O’neil’s cheek and shirt.  That time the loud noise was not from the crowd outside trying to get in, but from Steph, Dean and everyone in that room busting out laughing.  

Precious sick baby

We never got to see everyone that came and waited.  I got to walk around and see these folks, sitting, waiting, wanting.  Lots of happy children wanting me to “snap me”  (take their picture) then show them so they could immediately reminisce.  “aaaaaaAAAAhhhhhHHH” they laughed at every pose.  Love that sound.  Lots of bellies big, but not big with food.  Little herniated belly buttons, limp and dazed infants, fevered brows, hungry eyes all mixed in with white teeth, sparkling eyes and amused giggles.  It really is Crazy.