My trip is nearing it's end and like I expected, this blog has been woefully neglected. Old habits die-hard. Without question, my time in Kenya has been amazing. Over the past two and a half months I have had the opportunity to be a part of some remarkable experiences. I have been in a mini-van with 25 other living entities (19 adults, 4 adolescents, 2 babies, and a chicken) flying down the highway at 60 mphs with a man hanging out the open sliding side door yelling, “Welcome to Kenya!” I have been to a bullfight in Kakamega (not the Spanish kind, but a soccer field full of bulls fighting each other while the viewers do their best not to get trampled) and a butterfly farm in an ancient rainforest. I swam in the warm waters of the Indian Ocean and then travelled 400 miles by bus through some of the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen. I spent 6 weeks with 6 incredible students and and like Nikki said, got to fulfill all of my National Geographic dreams when we spent three spectacular days in the Masai Mara.
For the past month, I have been staying with a family in a rural area near the Tanzanian border. Four days a week I go to St. Joseph’s Mission Hospital in Migori and on Tuesdays I have been trying to show the teachers at the locals schools how to use Microsoft Word and sign-up for Facebook accounts. At night and on the weekends I play with Jeska, the families’ youngest daughter (the older 3 are away at boarding school) and read about all the things I see at the hospital.
Of all my time at the hospital, this past week was hardest. I have been there on and off for over two months now and have been surrounded by death and dying the whole time. This week however, was the first time that I'd actually been there when someone died. On Thursday evening I watched a young 21 year-old boy name Alfred succumb to late stage typhoid. The immediate cause of death was a severe stomach infection due to significant perforations in his small intestines. I’d been attending to the boy and communicating with his family since his admission the previous afternoon. When he finally took his last gasping breadth, his father and I were sitting at his bedside talking about why we couldn’t take him in to the operating theater and agreeing that all that we could do was leave the situation in God’s hand. When Alfred stopped breathing a few minutes later, it was heartbreaking to watch the family break into wailing tears. The boy’s mother and younger brother were inconsolable and Charles, his father, seemed to be lost. The boy had been in another hospital for 10 days before being brought to St. Joseph’s, and it was during that time that the disease progressed to a point in which nothing could be done. I have never felt so paralyzed and frustrated in my life.
After he died and the family had time to mourn over his body, the nurse and I removed his hospital gowns and put him in the white linen suit that mark the patients headed for the morgue. As we manipulated his lifeless body out of his hospital gown, I was overcome by the feeling that surely there must be a better way to treat the dead. In an open ward surrounded by 9 other patients and their visiting families it seemed like the most undignified thing we could have done. Nevertheless, we lifted him onto a metal table and wheeled him to morgue accompanied by his father. After we situated his body, the father expressed his gratitude for the care I had shown his son. I immediately started to cry and apologized for not being able to do more.
I saw Charles the next day when he came back to pick up the body and he invited me to the funeral which will take place next Saturday. I told him that I would very much like to attend but that I would be leaving the country the day before. We talked for a few more minutes before he headed for home and I went back to check on the progress of a laboring mother.
As frustrating and draining as the experience was, I feel very blessed to be becoming part of a profession that has the opportunity to help and support patients and their families as they navigate these difficult and painful times. It feels like a real gift.
I couldn’t have imagined a better way to spend my summer. I have seen things I never imagined I would, and I am as excited to start medical school this fall. I have also extended my family halfway across the world and know that when I leave I will immediately start thinking about when I can return.
Having said that, I am ready to come home. I miss my friends and family dearly and I really want to eat some sushi. I will see you soon. I’m bringing the mustache with me.
