This is Africa

I just read a post on Facebook from someone complaining of an aspect of healthcare in America.  The post helped reveal to me my own heart and thoughts on healthcare and also showed me how ungrateful I’ve been because I’ve done the same about our healthcare back home (complained).

After working at the hospital here for the last 8 weeks, I’ve been humbled with the realization that I have no right to complain. I have no right to complain about how “good” we have it back at home.

My internship at Jinja Main Hospital has broken and burdened my heart for the healthcare here.  These people have every right to complain but they don’t/can’t and that is why my heart breaks for them.

My heart breaks for the families not having the option to put their loved ones on oxygen. It breaks for all wounds I had to dress on patients' who screamed in pain because of lack of pain medication. It breaks for the MONTHS of waiting to perform a simple surgery on a child who eventually developed other health issues during the delay. It breaks for the poverty that denies people from treatment. It breaks for the fact that we have to tell our patients to go buy IV cannulas, medications, dressings, supplies and syringes.  It breaks for the delayed care that many die from (and it’s too late when you try to correct the care that was delayed that could’ve possibly prevented a death). It breaks for the fact that patients cannot even get an accurate diagnosis because they can’t get an x-ray or scan. It breaks for the misdiagnosis and missed treatments. It breaks for the malnourishment ward where the children stare at you with their huge haunting eyes. It breaks for the anemic kids who cannot receive blood because there's a shortage. It breaks for the fact that mothers have held their child while waiting in the emergency line to see a doctor only to realize that their child stopped breathing in their arms (and not having the equipment on you to try to revive them). It breaks for the fact that people go to witch doctors first instead of thinking of going to the hospital, believing they can find better treatment with the witch doctors (and then seeing the marks on the child from the witch doctors when the family eventually brings them in).  It breaks knowing that children are being sent home very unstable—and even hearing a Ugandan nurse state that they are being “sent home to die”.  It breaks for the fact that when you attempted to save a baby's life (and they actually survive!!) you know that it would be a struggle to keep them alive when you leave at the end of the day (& coming back the next day in hopes that they are alive only to realize that they ended up dying).  It breaks for the fact that a ward was even nicknamed “the death ward” because of the high mortality rate. It breaks for the fact that people fear going into the hospital because they associate the hospital with death. It breaks because as a nurse I know the physical care these people need yet cannot provide it for them.

& It breaks my heart that I’ve been told many times by Ugandan health workers that healthcare is this way merely because “this is Africa”.

  

It’s bittersweet ending my internship tomorrow at the hospital. It’s hard leaving when you know what you are leaving and wishing you could physically do more. Sadly, ignorance really is bliss, but seeing all this helped me realize how thankful I should be and also how God is a good God and He can do anything in Uganda.  so Pray for Uganda.