high fiber (regular)

granted, the prof had good hand skills. but i personally had doubts about the depth of his academic knowledge. i wish i could say that as i studied and got up to date towards my finals, i gradually realized that the prof may have been a little behind the times. but there was a more subtle sign that i cottoned on to much sooner.

even as a mere medical officer in the prof's firm, i was always amazed that on academic rounds he tended to swing the conversation towards constipation and how to avoid it with the consumption of enough fiber. far be it from me to criticize a good high fiber diet, but i did wonder how one ended up speaking about the colon, even when we were discussing a patient with breast cancer. but to be fair, it wasn't that the prof was clueless about other things pertaining to surgery, so in the end i just assumed he had a great interest in and a love for all things relating to the colon and how they could be managed with fiber. maybe he wasn't really trying to hide his lack of knowledge about other things but couldn't help always swinging the conversation back to his one true love.

many years later, when i was the senior registrar and it once again fell to me to rotate through the prof's firm just before my finals i at least knew what to expect to be taught on academic ward rounds.

when joining a firm, more often than not there are already a group of students there that know the ropes. sometimes they even view you as the new guy and it can be quite difficult to assert your authority. the first day in the prof's firm i realized i was likely to have problems with the incumbent group of students. on the morning rounds there was a silent resistance to everything i said, a sort of unspoken 'who do you think you are?'. it annoyed me. i was so close to finals i really didn't feel like having to stamp my authority on a bunch of snotty nosed students. i started wondering if there could be another way of approaching the problem. in the end i understood working for the prof changed one somewhat. maybe just the fact that they had been in his firm for a while was why they were being subtly aggressive. maybe to hammer them in the prof's typical style would achieve something in the short term, but it would further affirm their belief of the stereotypical surgeon. another approach was called for. i decided to bide my time and wait for the right opportunity.

the academic round with the prof was as painful as i remembered it always being so many years before. and yet somehow he didn't swing every patient and every condition towards constipation, which was at least a relief. finally we got to the last patient. the student presented and the prof gave instructions about how to further handle him. and that was it. the rounds were over. i was quite excited to move on to the ward work and get on with the rest of the day, which in my case would probably entail putting my tail on a chair and my nose in a book. we all walked to the door, but i could see the prof wasn't walking with his usual determined stride. he wasn't finished with us yet. suddenly he stopped.

"you know, constipation is a very real problem." at last, the old prof was back. by the reaction of the students i could see they had heard it all before. the one rolled his eyes. another's shoulders sagged, almost too obviously. i smiled. i'm sure they were all thinking i'm smiling out of naivety, seeing that, in their minds at least, i didn't know the prof's favourite topic. i was smiling for another reason.

"yes," continued the prof, "it is a problem that i have been struggling with for all of my professional career." too easy, i thought.

"well then prof," i looked at him, trying to mimic an expression of sympathy, "why don't you just try a high fiber diet."

once the students had composed themselves after fits of what i'm sure the prof viewed as inappropriate laughter, i never had another problem with them again. the prof?...well that's another story.

chicken feet

i hate kalafong (hell). there are many reasons for this (here, here, here, here, here), most emotional, i confess. but if i am honest there is one incident that stands head and shoulders above the myriad of traumas that i experienced there.

one of the strange idiosyncrasies of kalafong (hell) is that some time during each night shift, all the sisters of each ward get together in the duty room and eat chicken feet. i have no explanation for this. maybe there is an abundance of chicken feet in the area. maybe the sisters are paid in part with chicken feet that absolutely must be eaten before they leave for home after their shift. maybe it is part of some bizarre ritual that initiates all kalafong sisters into some secret evil cult. i simply do not know.

i was a mere fourth year medical student which meant i was at the absolute bottom of the rung that night on call for internal medicine. i knew nothing and was of almost no help to anyone. the only thing that i could do was to put up drips, so the senior medical students would send me to the wards whenever they got a call that a drip needed inserting. for some reason kalafong sisters never put up drips. maybe there was a fear that the patients were allergic to chicken feet and the residue of the no doubt scrumptious delicacy on the fingers of the sisters could potentially cause the patients harm. they were clearly not about to take that chance, so there was plenty of opportunity for me to hone my already very well honed drip inserting skills.

i had just left the female medical ward after inserting a whole host of drips and was quite keen to see what was going on in casualties. i walked in.

"drip to be inserted in female medical." the sixth year student smiled. i don't think it was really meant to be malicious although it felt that way at the time. i think it was more a relief that he had done his years of continuous drip insertion honing and was glad that he honed no more. it was the natural cycle of things and he had passed the batton to the next group. it was simply my turn.

"i was just there!" i protested at no one in particular, turning to leave with my shoulders sagging just enough to be noticable to the discerning eye.

i entered the ward through the back door. the main door had been locked by the sisters. this was another thing one got used to there. it was just something the sisters did at night.  the reason for this behaviour elluded me, especially when they had just called for someone to insert a drip. you would think that they would unlock the door in anticipation of that person actually arriving to insert the drip. maybe they needed their privacy while performing strange initiation rites with chicken feet.

as i entered the ward, a patient looked at me.

"doctor, help me! i'm dying!" i froze. it was dark. i could only make out the patient's shape, silhouetted against the dirty cream coloured wall. yet her eyes were so wide with fear that i could see her white sclera. i felt a shiver go down my spine. what was i to do? i was only a fourth year. i didn't know this patient and even if i did, i had no knowledge to actually help her. in my naivety i hadn't yet learned the rule that more often than not, if a patient tells you they are dying, it is because they are in fact dying. the one thing i knew is that i couldn't ignore her.

i walked up to her. she lifted her arm weakly. then suddenly her fingers encircled my arm and all her remaining strenght seemed to go into her grip. her nails bit into my flesh as she pulled me close to her face.

"help me doctor, i'm dying!" she repeated. she scared me, so i pried myself loose and checked her file. she had been admitted the previous day with the diagnosis of meningitis. antibiotics had been prescribed but only one dose had been signed for since admission. probably the drip had been out when the other doses were due and once some poor fourth year had reinserted it, the sisters hadn't bothered to put up the dose that had been missed. at least there was something i could do, i thought. i could check to make sure the drip was working and get the sisters to give the last dose of missed antibiotics. somehow i allowed this thought to make me feel better. i would help this lady and all would be well.

i checked the drip. it was working well.

"don't worry, mamma, i'll send someone to help right away." i said as i turned to leave. she lunged for my arm again when she saw that i was going, but there was no strengh left and she missed. as i walked away a knot developed in my stomach. i felt that i had failed this old lady. i had done the little bit my knowledge had permitted me to but i had also allowed my fear of her and of what she was facing to intimidate me to such an extent that i hadn't really stayed to comfort her. i was determined to be a change in her circumstances and her life. i would speak to the sisters.

i walked to the duty room. the door was closed but there was an almighty din emanating from inside. the sisters seemed to all be shouting and laughing in unison. i knocked and opened the door. for a moment the bright light from their happy little room blinded my eyes that had become accustomed to the darkness of the ward. the light seemed to pour out into the gloomy ward behind me. all the sisters were sitting around the table eating chicken feet. when they saw me they all went silent, but continued eating.

"good evening sisters." no answer, unless silence is an answer. "sorry to bother you but the patient in bed 5 in cubicle d is in a bit of distress."

"we'll check on her now now." i knew what now now meant in our strange south african english. now now was not as soon as now and implied no urgency. now now was not as now as i wanted it to be.

"ok," i said, knowing that if i antagonised them they would purposely postpone checking on her just to teach me a lesson. "also i see that she hasn't yet received her last dose of antibiotics. her drip is working, i checked, so please give it to her when you go to her." the sister looked up from the chicken foot she was now toying with between her fingers. i saw in her eyes that she despised me, although i had never laid eyes on her before in my life. some things in kalafong one learned to accept.

"i said we would see to it now now!" she repeated. then her head dropped back down to give the chicken feet the full attention they seemed to deserve. i stood still for a minute. then i quietly closed the door.

as i walked away to do the drip i had actually come to the ward to do, raucous laughter errupted from that small brightly lit room. it brought me to a stop in the middle of the floor in the dark ward. i felt tears well up. i didn't know if i wanted to cry because the sisters were clearly enjoying a joke at my expense or at the futility of an old woman who lay in bed 5 in cubicle d all alone with the fear of death over her. i just knew there was something horribly wrong with the whole picture.

i got the drip up and running in double quick time. i then rushed off back to casualties, but not before quickly checking on the patient again. when i approached her she still had the same stare. this time her arms lay still on the bed beside her.

"don't worry, mamma," i said, "i have asked someone to come and help you. it is all going to be ok." she didn't react. "i promise i'll also come back myself tonight to check on you." a little of the fear went out of her eyes. only a little.

on the way back to casualties i made sure i composed myself. it wouldn't be good to show the senior students that i had been so affected by something they no doubt had seen quite a lot of. anyway everyone always said not to let kalafong get to you, otherwise it could change you forever. at that moment forever seemed like such a long time. the sixth years were busy doing a lumbar puncture behind one of the flimsy curtains in the casualty unit that seemed designed to give the impression of privacy without actually delivering any real privacy. one of them looked up.

"sorry dude, but they just called for another drip in male medical." i turned and walked out without saying a word. the quiet of the open air kalafong corridors could possibly afford my soul a bit more peace than the overwhelming noise of human suffering of casualties. usually i could handle it, but then i felt a despondency and futility that was too much to bare.

in the end there were three drips in male medical so it took me longer than expected to get them all up and running. this time it didn't bother me. i was in no rush to get back to casualties. also i knew i had told the old lady in female madical i would check on her and i was afraid. i was afraid of what i could not do for her. i was afraid i would be inadequate. i was afraid of the face of fear that i had seen in her eyes. somehow her reality at that moment was too real and i didn't want to face it. i wanted to be at home in my warm bed, ignorant of how terrible life could be. but i knew i had to go to her. if for nothing else, i had to just be with her so that she was not alone. i walked slowly to female medical.

i walked past the duty station. this time the door was open, but besides that there was no discernible difference. all the sisters still sat exactly where they had been. some of them were still eating the last of the chicken feet. the light from their room lit up half the ward, but did not reach all the way to cubicle d. they didn't see me slip past them so their laughter must have been aimed either at someone else or just part of the normal merriment associated with people sharing a meal together. still, just like the light, it seemed to me to be out of place.

"mamma, i'm here" i whispered as i approached her bed, just in case she was asleep. she lay with her head to one side. she didn't stir. i walked closer and took her hand. it was cold and clammy. i leaned towards her face. even in the darkness i could see her eyes were open, but they were fixed in the stare of death. she had died alone and i had failed her completely.

i have hated the sight of chicken feet ever since.

doll eyes

it affected me. not just it, but the fact that it didn't seem to affect my colleague.

i was a lowly fourth year medical student, delivering babies for all i was worth. looking back, i realize i enjoyed it. the whole 'joy of a baby coming into the world' really gave me joy that a baby was coming into the world. call me sentimental but i saw each birth as beautiful. somehow i could look past the meconeum and the amniotic fluid and the episiotomies and see what was actually going on. it was a happy time for the mother (mostly). it was the beginning of hopes and dreams. it was a new start for the baby (obviously) and for the mother and in a sense each new birth may have signified a potential new start for me.

she was excited about her new baby, but there was a cloud over her entire admission. the reason she had come in to hospital was because she hadn't felt the baby kicking for the last 24 hours and she was worried. quite soon we were worried too. not only could we detect no movement but we couldn't hear the fetal heart beat with our fetoscopes. my registrar was one of those amazing people who really felt for each and every patient despite the massive torrent of humanity that moved through the labour ward on a daily basis. this patient was no exception.

actually we all new what had happened, but the registrar wanted to make sure. i suppose she just didn't want to tell the mother her baby was dead before she had confirmed it on sonar. actually i think she wanted to use the sonar to show the mother there was no heartbeat to avoid problems of denial once the news was broken. whatever the reason i followed the whole drama as it unfolded, as did my fellow fourth year green medical students.

i remember sitting there in that small labour room where mothers are usually introduced to their new babies while the registrar ran the sonar probe over the mother's swollen abdomen. i remember her bringing the probe to a standstill over the heart. we could clearly see the heart, but there was no movement. the heart was not beating. as we actually already knew, the baby was dead. all that remained was to tell the mother. with genuine sympathy and very sensitively the registrar broke the tragic news to the mother. i saw her face drop as the realization of the loss set in. i could see her fighting back the tears. i was too.

finally it was over and we all slowly filed out to leave the mother to absorb the blow. of course we still had to decide how to deal with the problem of getting the baby out so we didn't have the privilege of dwelling on the human drama that had just unfolded before us. still i took a moment to allow myself to feel it. this involved no small amount of swallowing back the tears.

the registrar turned to us.

"and that is that. which of you is going to deliver this baby?" my colleague was the first to speak.

"excuse me, but when the baby is delivered, can we practice endotracheal intubations on the body?"

i felt nauseous and slightly dizzy. it hadn't occurred to me before then but suddenly i realized the entire humanity of what had just happened had gone completely over the head of my colleague. all he was interested in was the possible so called learning opportunity that he could get out of the 'situation'. quite frankly he had felt nothing for the baby and he had felt nothing for the mother. i couldn't help wondering what sort of a doctor he would one day turn out to be. i never wanted to be like that.

in the end i was the one that had to deliver the baby. there were a lot of tears.

powerless

some things make me feel so powerless (yes, even i can be powerless in the face of incompetence)

i have previously mentioned a thing or two about my opinion of where medical training is going in this country. basically the powers that be are not-so-gradually degrading the degree. to them somehow it seems like a good idea. ideas i suppose can easily seem good when you are safely hidden away in your nice air conditioned office far from the reality of the consequences of essentially negligent doctors released into the community. well i get to see the consequences up close.

he was referred from an outlying hospital on a friday. the peripheral hospitals so like to empty their wards for the weekend. after all there is some good fishing in these parts. thank goodness for good fishing. otherwise many more would die unnecessarily.
anyway the patient had free air in his abdomen. this is a sign of a ruptured stomach or intestine and requires immediate operation. in fact the longer you wait the higher the chance of death. what i found interesting is the x-rays that they sent with the patient dated four days before the transfer (but admittedly not just before the weekend) clearly showed the free air.

now not all that long ago, to miss free air on an x-ray even as a student was a mistake that would fail you. these days you can easily get through medical school without worrying about trivialities like free air on x-rays. also, to have perforated bowel causes intense almost unbearable pain. even a street sweeper would be able to pick this up in the patient. yet the doctor at the referring hospital did not miss this easy clinical diagnosis only on one day or two days or three days, but on four days. that is if he even ever examined the patient. then fortunately a weekend turned up and the patient was referred, well on his way to the great hereafter.

as can be expected, when he turned up he was extremely ill and was already in kidney failure. the catheter bag remained empty. after a few hours of aggressive fluid resuscitation there was at least a bit of urine in the bag. then it was time to operate.

the abdomen was in a bad condition. to say it was rotten would be somewhat of an understatement. but the interesting thing i noticed was the full bladder. the peripheral hospital had kindly inserted a catheter not into the bladder but only into the urethra. there they had blown up the balloon, just to make sure they did the maximum amount of damage.

so not only did his treating doctors totally miss a very obvious diagnosis that any 4th year medical student should be able to make and thereby neglect to treat him appropriately, but the one necessary thing they tried to do , because they didn't know how to do it properly, caused further damage to the poor man.

i cast my mind back to when i was still in academic circles. i remember the professors complaining about pressure from the powers that be to pass students even when they felt the students were not suitably prepared. i myself was asked to examine a student in a practical exam. i failed her because she was simply a danger to any person unlucky enough to become her patient. and yet the powers that be had so changed the system from when i was a pregrad that she could not be failed and was released into the community.

i'm sure the people who have orchestrated the new system that is so student friendly (but not patient friendly) don't get to see the disasters out in the periphery that are a result of their hard work. quite frankly even if they did see them i doubt they would care. after all it doesn't directly affect them.