Hospital Days

As a part of my job I have the opportunity to travel with social workers to different hospitals within Eastern Kenya. Generally the children in attendance are those kids seeking medical professional care for long-lasting diseases or other complications. My feelings towards the hospitals could be described as a love-hate relationship. It is much the same in the United states; I love to see actions promoting children's health, but I hate how long it takes to receive that care. I love the fact that Missions of Hope cares enough about these children to squeeze an already tight budgets so as to ensure that these kids see proper medical professionals, but I hate that the care comes at such a high price to the school. I love holding the hand of a small girl as she waits anxiously for the doctor to call her in to the office, but I hate walking out of a hospital with less hope than when I came in.

It is indeed a trying challenge -a challenge of both perseverance and hope. Sometimes the struggles outweigh the benefits, but when so much is on the line, perseverance must prevail. Most of my frustrations have come from Kenyatta National Hospital (KNH). A few weeks ago Alice (a social worker) and myself went to the hospital with Kevin, a young boy of 9 years who was still in pre-unit (kindergarten). He had been held back for several years because he could not perform in class. He sat in the front row, squinted his eyes, and tilted his head, and still he could not see the board. But instead of questioning the reason for his lack of performance, the teachers simply held him back. A few months ago we had an optometrist visit the schools for school screenings. This was one of the intern's projects. Kevin was recommended to see a specialist, and so his case was followed up with Kenyatta National hospital.

My experience at the eye clinic should not taint the reputation of the entire hospital. This was just one case, and I should hope that it is not representative of the care that is provided in all departments. On a Wednesday morning a few weeks back, Kevin, Alice and I arrived at KNH around 9 am. Long story short, we didn't leave until 5pm. Of the 8 hours that we were there, I believe the doctors spent a total of 15 minutes looking at Kevin; the diagnosis: come back next time.

We came back again. But this time I was ready. I packed some playing cards, a few books, some activities for Kevin, and most important, a bagged lunch for the three of us. The day progressed much the same as last time. We arrived at KNH, payed out 200/= consultation fee (about $3), and then waited in the waiting room. We sat in dingy chairs and stared at the peeling paint on the walls. There was one lone poster that was stuck to the wall in three corners -it depicted some gruesome images of eye disease and trauma. So long as Kevin didn't have one of those issues, I was glad to put in the 8 hour wait. When we were finally called back to a room we were greeted by another 4-5 families -each with little children. The consultation room was a zoo! Between babies crying, young ones playing, and doctors-in-training chasing patients with a flashlight, I felt like I was in a three stooges movie. This couldn't possibly be how a national hospital performed exams??!?! There was one main doctor who was obviously in-charge of the show, and she seemed even more put-off with her trainees than I was. "Who wrote on the back of the examination form! These are to be copied and .... Where is my scope? If some one removes my belongings one more time... What did you see? Why are you doing it this way, the prism is supposed to be held like this.... Is there anyone who can tell my what I should be looking for in this nystagmus?"

Case and point, she was not very happy.

Well, at the end of the day we were once again referred to a specialist, but this time at Gertrude's children's hospital. After the visit at Gertrude's Kevin was diagnosed with low vision and was recommended to a special school. How much time had been wasted? Not time simply in the hospitals, but what about the years that had passed since the teachers first noticed his poor performance and queer posture while trying to read. I was informed that he had been taken to Kenyatta once before, but was similarily referred for a second consultation without giving any imformation to the mother. Frustrated and unable to proceed with the follow up, Kevin's mother gave up, and nothing further was done. Kevin is a bright boy, and his education is critical to his economic and social maturation. He is already 9, but he must now start anew in a whole new program. The only difficulty, is where -and at what price. Who will  pay for his education when his mother is scraping uagali out of a bowl so that she can scrap together enough food to have one more bite -a small bite that will do little to staunch the hunger pains.

There is depressed, and then there is desperate. I love this family dearly, and I would ask that anyone who reads this, that they would say a short prayer for this family.

Add caption

"That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day."
2 Corinthians 4:16