Kruger Pics

Check out: http://picasaweb.google.com/BackToBara for pics from Kruger

 

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Kruger Day 3

Here kitty kitty kitty..

I know I skipped day 2. Woke too tired to get out of bed. The goal had been to leave at 6am. Who the hell gets up at 6am on vacation, from a warm bed??? Ug. Drove around for a few hours once I did get up. Saw hippos, elephants, giraffes, and other things. No damn lions. Came back to my hut (I'm not kidding) did a bit of reading and a bit of work stuff, took a glorious nap, and then went on a night drive safari. Just like the TV show, had bright spot lights to look for the reflection of eyes in the dark. Saw a white Rhino and some other non-cat animals. Had to listen to the constant moronic babble from the people behind me. And wondered why I didn't bring whiskey along. Oh, and during the morning, as I came back from the communal kitchen with hot water for *gasp* instant coffee, a little twerp monkey ran away from my kitchen area (it's in front of the hut) with my yogurts!! And then a few hours later, as I was stopped at a picnic area, admiring the view of a river, a little twerp monkey jumped up from my feet (I didn't even know he was there, I was lost in thought-but people looking on witnessed the entire event) and grabbed my apple out of my hand and ran up a tree and ate in in front of me. Bastards. I am thinking that shooting monkeys may be permissible

I compromised with myself today, and decided a 7am start time was realistic. And low and behold, was rewarded with a few lions and cubs this morning. Well, not infant cubs, they looked older. Got some pics, and then felt let off the hook. I've seen 4 of the Big 5 Animals, just needed a leopard or cheetah (honestly, what's the difference) and was setting my expectations low. 4 of 5 is 80%. I can live with that.

Drove around a bit this afternoon. Stopped at a lunch spot and started reading "Left for Dead" which is Beck Weather's account of the failed 1996 Everest climbing expedition. And then I drove to a hide. I turned off the car, manually locked the door as I didn't want the beeping of the car alarm being activated to put me on bad terms with those in the hide. These folks are serious! Got to see some animals from the hide. There were some overzealous photographers there who were too serious... They got all pissed off when a car alarm beeped twice as the hit the button before getting in the car so that the alarm didn't go off. To which the serious photographer remarked to his wife "asshole using his hooter."

[note: hooter is South Africa for horn. Not like the American Hooters. Either form of the American Hooters]

Anyway. My laptop was in the back of my Bakkie. I have kleptophobia (the fear of having things stolen-ever since my car was broken into a few years ago), and so, I tried to remotely lock my car while I was in the hide. I figured the serious photographers wouldn't know it was me. I kept hitting the button, but did not hear the "beep beep" of the alarm turning on. C'est la view. When my kleptophobia got the best of me, I decided I would leave the hide. As I started to sit down in my bakkie, I wondered why the alarm light was blinking out of sync. Sadly, I couldn't stop the downward pull of gravity, and as I rocked the car, my car alarm went off.

Yes, thank you very much. I again, fucked up at the hide. Bye bye animals. I could almost hear the serious photographer mutter "asshole." Apparently, when I had hit the button to engage the car alarm, it had worked, I just didn't hear the beep beep.

When in Africa... I'm glad I've done the safari thing. It's been a successful trip. I've seen lots of game. Have finished one book, and am starting another. Have even gotten a bit of work done. But at the end of the day, give me my backpack, and mountain solitude, where not encountering animals is often ok (bears for instance).

You can take the boy out of Colorado, but you can't take the Colorado out of the boy...

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Kruger Day One

Wow. I'm in a fog. I got up just past 3am this morning to drive a few hours east to the Kruger Park. I wanted to maximize my time here in the park, and so wanted to arrive in the early morning in hopes of seeing some animals before the day-time sun drove the animals to seek shelter from the heat. I managed to get just over 4 hours of sleep last night, but of course, was post-call and hadn't slept all day. It had been a great day. Left the ICU, went to the gym, then went grocery shopping (for my trip) and then home to pack a bit, and then back to work to plug along on my research project.

 

Then, Celine (an ID fellow from Hopkins who is also here for a year), her husband, and few peeps doing Epi from Hopkins came by for a tour of Bara. It was great as we were able to make a general run through NICU, Ward 36, Ward 18 (where sister Nicah-one of my all-time favorites was on-duty), and then ICU and medical admissions.

 

About ward 18-the other day I was walking outside along the corridor, and as I looked into ward 18, this kiddo waved at me. He had the open-close hand wave. He's tiny! So I stolled in to ward 18, and picked him up and looked at his chart. Turns out he is 2 years old. Though physically looks more like a 14 month old, but developmentally is closer to a 2 year old (though with possible language delay) and has some hormonal issues that is affecting his growth (I didn't read his chart far enough to get the specifics). But he is such a ham! I enquired if he needed a home-in America. And when I saw sister Nicah-she said that Thando does haven parents, and that he has been in the ward for many weeks...

 

Anyway, back to Kruger Park. The Prof of the ICU has already told me, explicitly that she will not give me an ICU bed if I get attacked by animals. This was her response when I asked exactly what people did here at Kruger. I assumed it would be like most parks. Some hiking trails, walking around etc. God I need a good hike about now, and was also looking forward to doing some running this weekend. And I was quickly told that in the park, you stay IN THE CAR! What?? What the hell kind of park is this where you have to stay in your car. Apparently, it's a park with lions and other cats that could/wold eat people??

 

Culture clash. I was driving along the dirt road about mid-day. I'd seen a bit of game. Elephants. Giraffes Buffalos. Birds. Plenty of miscellaneous antelope-things. And figured, as everybody has told me, that the cats are not really out during the day. So I was driving along, enjoying being on a dirt road, pretending I was driving my JEEP, ipod blaring, leaning out the window kind saying "here kitty kitty kitty," I was thoroughly entertaining myself, when I rounded a corned and came upon a "hide" and some disapproving stares of folks who had probably been sitting there for hours in the peace and quiet hoping to see animals. Well, they did. Doctorus americanus cum africanis, exhibiting the combined behaviour of being post-call from the ICU, sleep deprived, and enjoying being in nature. Oops.

 

I'll be on good behaviour tomorrow.

 

 

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Blurred Vision

It's 3am. I am wide awake. I did my 2am round on the trauma ICU patients. They were all were still alive, bleeding controlled, vent numbers appropriate. Here was my chance for 2 hours of sleep, barring any unforeseen emergencies. I laid on the bare bed of the call room. No sheets. No pillows. And I stared at the ceiling. In my mind, I couldn't put down the book I had been reading, but I wasn't going to give into my inner-child's curiosity and piss away a chance for 2 hours of precious sleep to continue reading. This book is giving me some clarity into future job prospects, and now, at 3am in the ICU, I can't stop thinking about what I want to do with my life; at least my life for the next year, or maybe even two.

It's 10am. I have half a dozen eggs in one hand, and sweet chili sauce in the other. I'm sweaty and smelly. I got home from work at 9am, debated going to bed and sleeping away the morning, seeing as how I wasn't able to sleep when I had the chance during call. I had a cup of coffee before leaving work, a red-bull when getting home, and then another coffee, and still lacked the motivation/energy to go running. But the thought of going to the grocery store, buying fresh strawberries and making home-made strawberry pancakes was enough motivation to get me to take off my scrub top, change into running shorts, grab my ipod and head out the door. My legs are sore. I ran along a greenbelt that I would normally avoind in late afternoons, and at all costs in evenings, for fear of safety. But, I really enjoyed running along the greenbelt this morning. I live by the mantra that serious crime doesn't happen on Saturday and Sunday mornings. After a pathetic start, I hit my stride and settled into an enjoyable pace, lost to the beat of itunes, and lost in a kaleidoscope of thoughts. And right before I headed into the grocery store, I decided to make a brie omelet with sweet chili sauce-which is what I ordered for breakfast yesterday. I took a R100 bill note with me, and shoved the R79 into my pocket as I headed out the door and started salivating at the thought of a scrumptious omelet for breakfast. I walked past the guys selling sock, who seem to only be out selling socks on weekends. And then I passed a guy, who I guessed was blind, and an amputee sitting on a piece of cardboard, staring off into space. I didn't hesitate to reach into my pocked and fish out the spare change. He startled when I stepped on a piece of the cardboard (confirming my suspicion that he was blind), and stuck out his hand when I said, "here ya go." And I walked on. And immediately, I wondered two things. Why hadn't I just given him all of the R79? And why do I readily give handouts here in SA (and Nepal and Ethiopia), but not back in America? The reason, I've concluded-as I've been thinking about this for a while now, is that here, as in Nepal, Ethiopia, etc there is no real provisions for the destitute. No real welfare-to speak of...

It's 1pm. I'm in Maponya Mall, in the heart of Soweto. I'm fulfilling a promise, to join JC and meet his wife. When his family was here at Easter, including his father who was in town from Zimbabwe, he'd invited me over to meet his whole family, and have a braii. Painfully, I had to decline, as that was the weekend I was headed to Swaziland. And so we made plans to meet today. I'm on American time, he and his wife are on African time. We meet half an hour later. I'm blurring the accepted "doctor-patient" boundaries that North America has taught me. He already has my mobile phone number-as do a dozen or so patients, as well as my email-as do a handful of patients. But meeting outside the confines of work seems to be outside the "norm" of doctor patient relationships. I note, to myself, that I am no longer his doctor which makes it seem fine to meet him.

He arrives with his wife, their daughter is off playing with a friend, but I'm told we'll pick her up later. We walk the few short blocks to their place. It's a single bedroom. It is smaller than my bedroom here in SA. And has one bed, a fridge and a stove, and a TV. There is no running water in the room, and the toilet is outside as well. It's what I anticipated, well except that it has electricity. I immediately make myself at home, sitting on the bed and we catch up since we haven't chatted in a while. Coincidently, I'd talked to his Infectious Disease Doc a few days ago, who gave me updates on a few patients that I had been taking care of, so it's easy to shy away from asking about his meds and his CD4, viral load, and TB cultures. Instead, we quickly delve into politics. SA has elected a new president since we last spoke, and The Mugabi-Tsvangirai Coalition have pleaded Zimbabwe's case for international donations. We have lots to chat about, especially because news coverage of Zim has fallen off the radar and I've lost track of some of the current events. As we're talking, Rumi makes sandwiches for all of us. The awkwardness that I was worried about, doesn't seem to be materializing. It's as if we're friends who just haven't seen each other in a few months.

As we finished eating and as the political discussion mellows, Rumi brings our old photos. I stare at a photo of a younger man, in a graduation ceremony.
"Can you pick him out of the crowd?" she asks.
No. No I can't. None of the three of these men look like JC. Except for his distinctive smile. Which I can pick out in the photo.
"That's him."
"Can you believe it? Look at that photo. Look how different he looks today. Look how much weight he lost."
I look at JC. He's gained 10 kg (22 lbs) since I admitted him to the hospital in February. But his physical stature is completely changed from the person in the picture.
"Every day I thank god that you saved him."
I swallow, unsure how to respond. "I'm thankful he's doing so well."

We finish looking at the photos, and then we take a drive, going through neighborhoods of Soweto that I'd be uncomfortable to drive through on my own. We pick up their 5 year old daughter. I make a fuss over her new braided hair, which has happened since I last saw her, and she giggles and grabs my hand an pulls me toward the bakkie. We head back to Maponya mall, where the activities include taking an anchored hot-air balloon ride for an aerial view of Soweto. It goes 120 meters high, and you get to be up there for 15 minutes. We hop aboard, and JC points out places in the area. I'd been to Soweto last weekend to see some of the historical sights, so it's great to be getting a better overview now, with the history of Soweto fresh in my minds. We snap photos from the top, and photos of us.

After the balloon lands, we head into the mall to print pics, and then we get KFC. Friends of theirs are coming over to join for dinner, so we're getting some KFC to compliment some fish that JC is going to bake for dinner. We walk through the mall, their daughter is practically attached to me, grabbing my hand, or my shirt. In the line at KFC, their daughter is trying to teach me a few words of Shona. She doesn't understand why I don't speak any Shona, or even Zulu. JC and Rumi enjoy the show as I slaughter the pronunciations. We collect the photos out as we walk out of the mall and head back to their place.

"Have you noticed it" asks Rumi.
"What?"
"You're a celebrity today. The reaction of the people seeing a white person walking around here. Especially with T grabbing on to you."
My vision is blurred. I didn't see it. I no longer see this. Being the sole white person in the gym, or the mall no longer registers in my mind. And today, there seemed nothing unusual about going to the mall with friends and their daughter.

We get back to their place, and LJ, his pregnant wife, and their 6 year old daughter join us. We tear into the KFC as JC prepares the Tilapia for the second course. LJ went to university with JC. We're all the same age. It's small chatter for a while, talking about the balloon ride and the events of the day. I tell LJ that I want to know what JC was like in university, I want stories. I try to break the ice a bit...

"I've known this man for a long time. I could barely come to visit a few months ago..." This isn't really the ice-breaking story that I was hoping for. LJ continues and tells me how depressing it was to come to visit, watching JC getting worse and worse. LJ had lost hope, thinking JC wasn't going to make it. His eye-contact drops off as he talks, but his eyes meet mine when he thanks me for taking care of JC. Again, I swallow hoping I can keep myself composed.

The next thing I know, the Tilapia is gone. The KFC is gone. And 2 hours have passed. In that time we've discussed South African, Zimbabwean, and American politics. As well as the failing healthcare system here in South Africa, especially as it pertains to Bara, as as it pertains to a friend of LJ's who died this week. We debate affirmative action. I try to just memorize this moment. I don't want this moment to be blurry. I want to remember it in absolute clarity, for the rest of my life. Sitting here, invited into the home of a patient/friend, a friend who, up until recently was an illegal Zimbabwean immigrant, sharing dinner with his family, and his friends, on a cold Johannesburg night, has been one of the most meaningful experience of this year, if not the past many years.

LJ and JC walk me out to my car. I make plans to see JC and his family soon, and pass along my number to LJ, so that he and his wife can call me if they have any problems when she goes into labor in a few weeks time. I drive home, still listening to Mrs. Potter's Lullaby... My blurry vision seems to have cleared up.

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Hey Mrs. Potter

I'm driving home last night. Post call. Well, post-call hours before. It had been a hectic night. Kids crumping. Adult admissions. A full ICU. I went home. Slept for an hour. Met up with a friend for lunch. Met up with another friend for dinner. And I'm stuck on this song which I listen to on repeat the entire way home. I don't know why I mention this trivial detail, but I've included song relevant songs during the past many months, and this one gets added to the list.

 

"Mrs. Potter's Lullaby" by the Counting Crows:

well I woke up in mid afternoon cuz that's when it all hurts the most
dream I never know anyone at the party and I'm always the host
if dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts
you can never escape you can only move south down the coast

I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame
I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame
if you've never stared off into the distance then your life is a shame
and though I'll never forget your face, sometimes I can't remember my name

hey Mrs.. potter don't cry
hey Mrs.. potter I know why
hey Mrs.. potter won't you talk to me?

well there's a piece of Maria in every song that I sing
and the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings
there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring
and the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything

or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said
oh and the ghost of the tilt-a-whirl will linger inside of your head
and the ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead
when I see you, a blanket of stars covers me in my bed

hey Mrs.. potter don't go
hey Mrs.. potter I don't know
but hey Mrs.. potter won't you talk to me?

all the blue light reflections color my mind when I sleep
and the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep
all the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep
hey I can bleed as well as anyone but I need someone to help me sleep

so I throw my hand to the air and it swims in the bees
it's just a brief interruption of the swirling dust sparkle jet stream
well I know I don't know you and you're probably not what you seem
oh but I'd sure like to find out so why don't you climb down off that movie screen

hey Mrs.. potter don't turn
hey Mrs.. potter I burn for you
hey Mrs.. potter won't you talk to me?

when the last king of Hollywood shatters his glass on the floor
and orders another well I wonder what he did that for
that's when I know that I have to get out cuz I've been there before
so I gave up my seat at the bar and I head for the door

we drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this moat of stars
we stand up in the palace like it's the last of the great pioneer town bars
we shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars
you can see a million miles tonight but you can't get very far (x2)

hey Mrs.. potter I won't touch
hey Mrs.. potter it's not much
hey Mrs.. potter won't you talk to me? 

 

As for the ICU...

 

Status quo. The ICU dramas which I see unfolding are, in some cases, no different than ICU dramas anywhere in the world. And then there are dramas which shouldn't be unfolding. Such as the kid who had a perforation in his bowel, and was delayed getting to a referral hospital for an excessively long time. He's not doing so well.

 

We do a hand-over round in the late afternoon. The night team has arrived, and then we tell them about the patients and things to do and follow-up. This is one of my new favorite acronyms. KATH

Keep

Alive

Til
Handover.

 

Which, don't get me wrong, is implied for each patient.

 

This coming Saturday will mark the final 5 weeks here in South Africa. The theme for the last 5 weeks is Work Hard, Play Hard. Though right now it's been a bit lopsided...

 

B

 

More from ICU

I'm not really sure what day it is. But that doesn't bother me. I know I left work this morning, and that I go back tomorrow morning. I'm not sure why I am up still. My plan is to head back to the hospital in an hour or two and go back to the clinic where I was the last few months and plug away at the research. There is a new sense of urgency to this project, which is lingering more than I would like, as I must collect all the data before I leave South Africa. I can start the analysis while stranded in Abu Dhabi on my layover back to the US.

 

In typical post-call disorganized thinking patterns, I pulled into the driveway thinking that maybe I should consider doing an ICU fellowship. Maybe a pediatric ICU fellowship. It's been a steep learning curve the past few days... and this ICU business isn't so tough. Ok, that's a bit of a lie, but I'm going with it.

 

What has been enjoyable, is that when I'm there during the day, I'm taking care of adult patients. Half medical, half surgical. During the day, the 2 pedi residents who are in the ICU are usually taking care of the pedi patients. Makes sense. But at night, my co-residents have absolutely no interest in covering the kiddos. So, I get to cover the kids at night. For me, it's a win-win.

 

But last night was slightly shaky. Lots of kids, most on vents. A few sick trauma kids, a few sick medical kids. Problems with the blood gas machine (basically not working)- which made it more challenging to manage vents. A problem with nursing (oh come off it, I hardly every speak bad about nurses back in America, but I'll have enough stories from the nurses here to write a separate blog. Which I don't mention in the blogosphere because that would be slanderous-which isn't really appropriate. Buy me a drink, and I'll tell you stories that will FREAK YOU OUT). Where was I... Oh yeah, I couldn't sleep last night, because a few of the kiddos were fragile enough that I didn't have the confidence to let the nurses oversee the care and so I basically hovered like a hawk.

 

Anyway, aside from the lack of running water for a few hours-which made it impossible to make coffee, the night was par for any night in an ICU.

 

We did our hand-over round this morning, the consultant agreed with my management during the night, and all the kiddos were still alive.

And in my hypo-caffeinated, post-call victory, sleep deprived state the idea of a PICU/ICU fellowship made sense.

Enough rambling for now.

More soon, I'm sure.

See One....

See one.

Do one.

Teach one.

 

The old mantra of teaching in hospitals. See a procedure done. Do the next one. And then teach others how to do one. It has kind of fallen out of favor back in the US. More like. See one or two done. Be observed while doing a few. And then teach to the interns/junior residents next year.

 

"When was the last time you did one?"

"Oh, when I was here at Bara in 2003."

"Great, you scrub, I'll walk you through it."

 

I think medicine has become less invasive in the US. At least where I train. We aren't as aggressive about placing central lines (an IV into the neck or some other big-ie, not arm- vein), or other invasive procedures (like arterial lines) unless really needed. But here, entrance into the ICU almost guarantees a central line and an arterial line. You're likely already intubated.

 

I went to see what the recent blood gas showed on my patients. He'd been rather ok at 8am, but we were making strides to get him off the ventilator. When I dropped by earlier he was somewhat agitated after being suctioned. But when I went by again later, he was in respiratory distress. 6 days ago, he was hit by a car. He has lung contusions bruises, bilateral hemothoraces (blood accumulating between the lungs and chest wall) and still has in one chest drain (to get the blood out, the other drain was removed the day before), a clavicle fracture, and a head injury. Oh, and now he's in respiratory distress. Shit.

 

I assess him. And he sounds full of fluid in the lungs, and it is spurting out his breathing tube as well. I try to dry him out a bit, and to sedate him a bit, but I don't make much progress. I had ordered his daily chest xray hours before. But it has not been done. I call them again. I get one of the other residents to come assess him well. We escalate our treatment and give some ketamine while we wait to switch vents so we can also give some nebulizer treatments as well. We call the attending to ask to sedate and paralyze the patient; which he vetoes.

 

The xray folks kindly show up, almost and hour and a half from when I called the first time.

 

And shit, he now has a new pneumothorax (air trapped between the lung and chest wall) on the side which we'd heard the worse crackles. While it is nice to have an explanation for what's causing him to (quickly) decompensate, it would have been nice to know that an hour ago.

 

And there I am, cutting his skin like the internist that I am. Gingerly. I'm thankful that the brash trauma surgery resident who is also working in the unit is post-call and gone, for if she were guiding me through this, I could imagine her level of irritation at this point. And I dissect down, splitting the layers of muscle and poking between the ribs to release a gush of air and old blood.

 

Well, isn't this what I signed up for? Yesterday I placed a central line without the comforts of ultrasounds. I learned the anatomy of where to stick the needle in the neck to hit the jugular vein. And on the same patient I placed an arterial line as well. And today I inserted a chest tube. Next time I do these, I should, by historical training guidelines, not only do them alone, but teach somebody how to do them. I don't feel like the expert who could teach somebody how to do one.

 

I swung by Ward 36 after work to say hello to a friend who is on-call for pediatrics tonight. It was a zoo, and I had fond memories. She was in the treatment room. I headed in there and tried to sooth an infant as she tried to jab in an IV. Jab isn't a nice way to say it, she was being the skilled doc that she is. I saw the thrush. I saw the lack of tears and very dry mucous membranes. I saw the increased work of breathing and fast breathing rate. I felt the enlarged liver. The kid looked appropriately nourished.

 

"Let me guess. HIV exposed, not tested yet, gastro and pneumonia?"

She smiles.

"Want to stay and admit kids tonight?

 

She didn't get the IV. "What's wrong with this one" I ask as I hold the infants hand which has an IV in it.

"It's not working."

 

I try to flush it. She laughs in an I-told-you-so manner. I remove the tape at the IV site. Pull off the tubing connected to the IV catheter, and I try to flush it. The saline goes in nice and smoothly.

"Dr Brian!"

They never flush IVs, they clot off all the time, and you just have to replace the tubing which allows you to keep the IV site and then you don't have to poke the kids again. I just smile. They are getting nailed. She has brand new interns on tonight. It's going to be a long night.

 

I head to the car. I had been in such a comfort zone the past few months, that I forget what it was like to be somewhere where almost everything is foreign to me. I know the physiology. I know the diseases. I am marginal at managing the vents. I don't know the technical procedures. I don't know which medicines they use. I don't know how to prescribe the drugs as milliliters of drug, and not milligram of drug. But I'm learning And I'll learn fast. When I stepped into Ward 36 ten months ago, I didn't know how to place an IV in a kid. I didn't know about HIV....

 

Sometimes I just forget that I'm here to learn.

 

 

BPB

Brain-Ache

My brain is actually sore. Good to be back in acute medicine, but very rusty. And having to learn new trade names of drugs (Trade Name= Tylenol, Generic=paracetamol) etc. Different treatment protocols. And different vent terminology.

 

Off to take some ibuprofen and read!

 

 

Changing

Check out my Bara Blog (http://notesfrombara.blogspot.com/) for a post that I didn't duplicate here.

 

200,000 and 7-1-10 (or 1-7-10 for those outside the US)

200,000

 

"When are you going to move back?" JPP looks at me. We're standing in the kitchen, beers in hand.

 

"July 1, 2010," I respond, automatically. There isn't even a hesitation in my reply. This is what makes sense. Maybe it's a combination of my rose-tinted glasses, with a bit of influence of beer goggles, but I don't think so. I knew it before we met up that night, that I'd be moving back. JPP and I have a friendship that goes way back, and we haven't seen each other in a long, long time. But out paths have crossed again, and when he asks me this question, I know that if I give a less-than honest, open answer, he'll call my bluff. But I'm not bluffing when I say this. This is home. And 7-1-10 will be my first day of ultimate freedom. I will not be a resident physician I get to choose where I want to live, and what I want to do, starting 7-1-10.

 

He grabs his iphone, "Ok, I'm putting it on my calendar. Brian moves back." I feel like I've given him my word.

 

It's Wednesday. CN is in clinic. She's lying on the examination table. In a week, she's lost more weight. There was no point in weighing her. In fact, she looked to weak to even get on the damn scale. I know her examination. I examined her twice last week in the hospital, and the week before that, and back in February. It's literally back to square one. She is actively dying, and there is no explanation. Rather, there is an explanation, but it's not one that I, nor our attendings can figure out. So I'm wiping the slate clean, trying to rid preconceived notions that I hold about what is wrong, or may be wrong, and examine CN, again, hoping to pick up something that escaped me before. She is wasting away. Her neurological status is deteriorating as well. She's not eating. She's bordering failing her HIV medications. What the fuck is going on? We're making no progress. I'm irritated. She was discharged from the hospital and hasn't had the follow-up care that we asked for. She hasn't seen the nutritionist to get her supplements. She hasn't see the physiotherapists (PT) to get mobility exercises, let alone a damn wheelchair. She didn't have a neurology appointment made. She hasn't fallen through the cracks, she's plummeted through the cracks.

 

I ask AK to come and see her. He hasn't seen her since a week before she was discharged. We review her care in the hospital. I feel like we're backed against a wall, and without doing something drastic, she's not going to live another week. I'm almost willing to treat for TB, MAC, and to change her HIV medications. It would mean starting her on 9 new medications at the same time. It is slightly illogical in that she's barely taking anything by mouth as it is. But shit, come on. Something has to be done.

 

"Doctor, careful." I put one arm under her knees, and the other one behind her shoulders, and I lift her off the bed. I'm surprised that her frail frame weighs this much. Of course I'm going to be careful. I sit her into the wheelchair, and her heads slumps down to one side almost resting on her shoulder; her eyes are barely open. I feel complete, and utter hopelessness, and helplessness. I'm so disappointed by what I feel, and see. The intensity of these feelings is something that I've only felt twice before

 

The tone went off in the fire station, and the ambulance was being dispatched to a Village Inn, for an unknown medical emergency. I was 18. I was in the fire station for my second ambulance clinical (the first clinical had been a complete bust). I was barely competent to take a blood pressure, let alone know my left hand from my right hand. And we showed up to the Village Inn, for our unknown medical emergency. It was a woman in her 60's. She was slumped over, barely conscious. We were close to a local hospital, so we basically packaged her and took her to the hospital. Maybe she was having a stoke? I remember it as this horrible event. She was conscious, but not really alert. Was she in pain? What was going on? Why couldn't we make her better? We watched as the ED doctors intubated her. We left the hospital, and wondered what was going on with her. And I wondered if I was really cut out for medicine. I was a college freshman, and had other possible career choices, and was maybe thinking that medicine wasn't what I was meant to do. I didn't feel tough enough, and I couldn't stand this feeling of being completely helpless. As it would turn out, we went back to the same hospital a few hours later, with another elderly lady who had broken her hip (while bowling!), and found the first woman. She was sitting up in bed, unsure why we were talking to her, as we were obviously interrupting her while she (get this) ate. Yep, she was a diabetic who had profoundly low blow sugars, and all she needed was a little glucose to perk up. Which, sadly, she got after being intubated. And then all of a sudden, I snapped out of it and figured maybe I could handle this medicine stuff, and I made a mental note to always check a blood sugar.

 

The second time was the worst. On entering the ED for a night shift, I'd popped my head into the resuscitation room, and saw a young guy on the trolley, and lots of commotion in the room. But something didn't seem right, and I couldn't figure out what was wrong, until I recognized the face-a face I knew from the club scene. He'd overdosed. And all night long I was on eggshells, waiting for the code to be called in the ICU.

 

We looked at CN, and talked with the family. Dr AK and I debated the pros and cons of my desperate plan. He's gently vetoing it. He has more than 20 years of experience, and I trust him. I know that he would jump on the TB/MAC/failing-HIV-treatment bandwagon had there been more evidence. But as it stands, there is something else going on, it is not TB/MAC/treatment failure. I am re-assured, but unlike the two previous times I'd felt this way, CN isn't going to live. And we place her into hospice that afternoon--mainly so that she can get the proper nutrition and physiotherapy, but knowing full well that she is likely terminal. I talk to her primary HIV doc who, again, re-iterates that she had been doing great up until February.

 

200,000

 

It's Thursday. There are patients everywhere. Everywhere. The waiting room is packed. The corridor down the hallway is packed. People are sitting outside. Friday is a holiday, so people have come on this day to be seen (which is great, because it shows ownership of their treatment), and also, the load was light on Thursday because the papers had erroneously written that we'd been on strike. Part of me really doesn't mind. It's my last day in this clinic. I kind of like the madness. I started here almost four months ago, and remember, how on that January day, I walked in knowing so little about HIV treatment, and the whole disease spectrum of HIV-related illnesses. In clinic, on Friday, I saw patient after patient, knowing what to do for the routine patients, what to do for those who are showing resistance to their HIV medicines, started TB treatments, and battled with a patient to convince him to get admitted to the hospital for his low potassium. This clinic is home.

 

"Dr Brian, why are you leaving?" It's sister Gerty. I would take her with me to America if I could. She is a Bara legend. She has been working here for more than 20 years, maybe even 30. Her grandfather is a retired school  teacher, who taught, among others Desmond Tutu. She is the one who was able to get the placement for CN yesterday. Sister Gerty was a palliative care nurse before going into HIV, so when she calls for favors, they happen. So I explain how I decided I should rotate through the ICU here at Bara, and that I've had a great time in clinic, and that I'll be back to see them regularly.  I also add, that I'll be back in the US in 2 months anyway, so I was bound to leave at some point.

 

We have our regularly Thursday group lunch. The waiting room is still packed, but we sit to eat anyway. I snap a few photos. I joke that I'll consult ID every chance possible, that I'll demand they come to the ICU to start HIV treatment for every person who has HIV. It's a joke, because HIV treatment is rarely indicated acutely/emergently, but we get regular consults from the ICU for this exact reason. I see my last patient in the HIV clinic. I recognize the face, immediately, but can't recall the story. We walk back to my examination room, and I'm flipping through his chat. Oh yeah, now I remember. This is the guy who I saw last Friday late in the afternoon. He had an abscess just below his left pec. I'd been a bit hesitant to stick a needle there to see what came out (one of the other docs had seen him earlier in the day, done a chest xray, and he showed up to follow up with me as the other doctor was out of the clinic). One of the consultants did the aspiration, and then we literally had him run to the pharmacy to get some antibiotics before they closed (they would be closed until Tuesday since Monday was also a holiday). I'd kept his name on my follow up list, just so I could see what his culture results showed, and see what was growing in that abscess. And it has been bland, nothing on the culture as of that morning. But, low-and-behold, at 3:35 when I checked again, the smear for TB had just been changed to positive! And it was a mad dash to do the TB paperwork, and have him run, again, to the TB center to get treatment before heading into this 3 day weekend.

 

200,000

 

Clinic was done. We'd cleared the book. The waiting rooms were empty. The only people hanging around outside were waiting for rides. I found myself talking with the 3 attendings/consultants talking about my experience in the clinic over the past many months, and being invited (jokingly, but not) to stop by on my post-call days and come see patients in the clinic. Dr AK and I hung out to discuss a bit of the project I'm working on, and then we just chatted a bit. A month ago, I would have asked how I could pursue coming here to work after residency, and as we were chatting, I debate bringing it up. And I almost start to when I force myself to stop.

 

200,000 is the salary of a job posting that showed up in my email this week. The sign on bonus is 20,000 US dollars. And there is a 10,000 moving allowance. 20,000 is just about what I'd make if I came back here to Bara to work in this clinic. Maybe a bit more, like 25-30,000 if I really pushed. But no more than that. If I were able to get an NGO job, which would be a back-door way to get into the clinic, the salary would jump a bit, but not enough that I'd be able to make student loan payments.

 

200,000 is the salary for a med-peds hospitalist position. One week on, one week off. The location isn't where I'd plan to live. When JPP asked me, "when are you going to move back," I was standing in his kitchen, in a Denver suburb. And at that time, there was no doubt in my mind, that I would be back in Denver on July 1, 2010. At lunch on Thursday, one of the consultants asked me, "what are you going to do when you finish next year." And I couldn't answer. Fighting HIV in Africa for no money. Taking care of hospitalized kids and adults in the US for a shitload of money. Living, where I feel at home-Denver, Jo'burg. Or on to the next home. I just don't know these days....

 

-

Final Clinic

Tomorrow is my last day in the ID/HIV/AIDS clinic. Was tough to make the decision to move on to the ICU.

 

More soon... have been really trying to buckle down and read recently to get ready for the ICU. Have enjoyed mostly reclusive weekends for the past 2 weekends as well.

Fighting

The politicians are fighting in SA. Well, fighting for votes. Zuma is likely to win this fight. Having escaped corruption charges to be able to officially enter the ring. It's a scary thing. It's great to be in a foreign country for elections. A chance to witness the culture of voting. I've been in Mexico during a national election-where alcohol sales are banned for 24 hours before, the day of, and 24 hours after the election. Of course, I was in Ireland during elections. And now to be here. The ANC is going to win this election. This is the party of Mandela. A party which has brought good changes: lots of housing, and basic essential to those most marginalized by Apartheid. But it also is the party of Mbeki, the present of SA who is directly responsible for killing (murdering, genocide...) some 300,000 men, women, and children. (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7716128.stm) Way to go ANC! In SA, the president is not elected by the people. The president is basically appointed by the party which has the largest majority in government. South Africa faces lots of issues presently, and even more serious issues in the near future, and it is electing a future president who has been tried for rape (and then "showered" afterwards so he didn't get HIV), and who just barely escaped corruption charges. Oh, and a president whose formal education stopped at Grade 6. (Not to point fingers, as one must wonder when GWB's education really stopped). Anyway, its been appalling to me that the ANC is going to win such a victory. But my perspective changed a bit last weekend when Andrew and I visited Lillieslief farm. Seeing the room that the then-leaders of the ANC used to coordinate efforts to rid SA of Apartheid, the room where Mandela slept as he lived under the guise of a hired hand on the farm-even making and serving lunches, the videos of how horrible people were treated during Apartheid, and it made me realize why so many of the people will vote for the ANC...

 

The Doctors are fighting in SA. I attended a meeting yesterday about the possible upcoming strike. Doctors have been in negotiations regarding, mainly, salaries, but also general conditions in hospitals. And they are on the brink of strike because of the lack or progress in negotiations. And in fact, north of Jo'burg, some doctors in hospitals went on strike today. I struggle with this, as I think it's almost deplorable for doctors to strike. To abandon patient care, to me, is against the moral fiber of the duty we have to our jobs, our patients. Patients suffer. The impending strike is complex. The public sector is very understaffed, there is little motivation to work in the public sector. The work load is heavier. The patients-I think-are sicker. The services that can be provided are restricted. The conditions in public hospitals are shitty compared to the private hospitals. And, of course, the pay is less. Much less. I will earn more money next year when I return to my residency salary, than does AK-the head of infectious disease here at Bara. A man who is a silent hero in Soweto. A man who started the ID/HIV clinic 20 years ago. The man who I am sure spent this national holiday today working most the day at home researching topics, writing papers. Taken in context, thought, student debt is very low, cost of living is low, and doctors do well, financially. But there is a drain from the public sector to the private sector due to the low pay. So it's tough. There needs to be a way to provide a larger incentive for doctors to want to keep working in the public sector.. I am hard pressed to think that a strike is the best way to force changes in this area.

 

We had our ID grand round, where we go to the bedside of a patient who is being seen by the ID service. And we examine and discuss the medical condition of a 26 year old woman from "Mozambique" who is hospitalized for an enlarged spleen. The spleen is a small organ, under your left rib cage which is involved in blood and infection processes. Sometimes it gets large, and you can then feel the spleen as it creeps past the rib cage. But with this woman, her spleen went down to her waist level. It is absolutely MASSIVE. But she's a total mystery. The enlarged spleen isn't the main mystery, the patient herself is. She showed up to the hospital with a note from a doctor in Mozambique asking for her to be assessed and treated for her enlarged spleen. But nobody has been able to communicate with this woman. No English. No Zulu. No Portuguese. No Xhosa. No Sesotho. No Tsonga or Tswana. No French. No Spanish (I tried). No Amharic. No Swahili. But what amazes me, is that this woman, on her own, made it from Mozambique to SOWETO, to see a doctor. Who knows where she is really from... She's basically fighting for access to medical care.

 

And I'm fighting fatigue.

Goodnight.

 

Cruise Control

Not a whole lot to report right now.

 

Swazi trip was good. Great weather. Camping under the stars was lovely. The "trail" on Sunday was not lovely, and I have the scratches and cuts to prove it. The company was great. I drove through Mbane, the main city-well one of them- 5 years ago. I didn't remember it being so hilly, and nice-appearing. We made it there in about 4 hours, so that was nice.

 

I am taking care of a patient I admitted at the end of last week. Pretty tough situation. Young woman who has progressive neurological deterioration. She defaulted coming to the clinic in March, and showed up last week emaciated, weak, and with worsening coordination. When I saw her Tuesday, she looked much worse to me than when I had seen her last on Thursday. Yesterday her brother called me, and I asked him his opinion-and the thought she actually was looking better. "Help me, I'm dying" is what she told me today. Sadly I think she is right. I was talking to her main clinic doctor on Tuesday the gist of the conversation being what happens when a patient says they are dying. For on Tuesday-I certainly came to the same conclusion that the patient verbalized today. Our consensus was that, when a patient says they are dying, they're usually right. And the goal is to get her home so that she doesn't die in the hospital. She's booked for an MRI tomorrow. It's quite a tragic story, in this land of endless human tragedies. 

 

Wednesday I saw SM in clinic. He's gained 8 kgs (16+ lbs) since I hospitalized him in Feb. He is back to work. He looks amazing. I've been breaking the news to the patients that I've gotten to know since January, that this is my last month in the clinic. (Though I confess, there is an overwhelming lack of motivation to find the head of ICU to coordinate my starting in the ICU in May). And so I told SM and his wife that this would be the last time I see them in clinic. They were disappointed. "I have my husband because of you." How does one respond to that? Guilt because the work here is endless, and it feels like betrayal to leave patients that I've gotten to know well, in such a short time. And anger-because SM didn't get the care he deserved and that all I did was admit him back to the hospital and literally throw the kitchen sink of antimicrobial treatment at him hoping to kill anything that was living in him, a treatment that should have been done weeks before he ended up in my examination room back in February. Thankfully, one of the consultant/attendings will take over his care when I leave, and they have a great rapport with her as well.

 

I was going to write a bit more, but there have just been some gunshots in the neighborhood, and it's late, so perhaps it's a good time to turn out the lights and go to bed. Oh, and this is the second time, in as many weeks, where there have been gunshots late at night. I'm slightly annoyed, because I staunchly argue to my friends that I live in a very safe area. And since last weeks gunshots, I've decided that running after 8pm isn't such a good idea now that it is getting dark out.

 

 

Happy Easter

It's a 4 day weekend here, and the town will be deserted by this afternoon, me included. Cecile, Myr, Thomas and I are headed to Swaziland in a few hours. We'll stay in a B&B tonight, then hit the trail tomorrow and be back late on Monday. It'll likely be the last big hurrah... And the last backpacking trips (sniff sniff) til I'm back in Massachusetts.

 

The week flew by, and I meant to stop many times and make a post. But obviously the posts stayed in my head, and didn't make it here.

 

In a nutshell... (I'll expand on these next week, ideally).

 

Economics of Poverty: Sat in on a very interesting meeting where AK met with the NGO which largely funds the clinic, and was an observer to the economics of HIV/AIDS, specifically to how US funds are being used for our clinic. Some readers have read the book. I've enjoyed pointing out that I am paying for this clinic through my US tax dollars

 

JC: Popped into my office yesterday, looks great. Have invited me to come to a braii and meet his family.

 

There seemed to be some more things, but I was due to leave the house 15 minutes ago, so better head out.

 

Happy Easter.

 

 

 

This is why...

[Disclaimer: this is more of a personal post, but I'm throwing it into the blogsphere. I don't hide my uneasiness of my upcoming move back to America, but perhaps in recent posts I haven't fully explained why Jo'burg has-so completely-caught me off guard. This may not be the most eloquent post-but I'm going with it.]

 

As I was driving home Sunday evening, I couldn't help but obsess that I am under the 3 month mark. It had been a non-stop 3 days. An almost maniacal pace to making sure to enjoy my weekend. Work. Friends. Fun. Not wasting the present moment, aside from the drive down the M1 toward home, wondering how I make sure to squeeze every drop out of my last months here.

 

JT (clinic doc I work with) "What's Holy Cow?" she asks me as we both walk down the hall. I'm caught slightly off guard.

Me: "A cow in India?" I assume there must be a joke here. Then I realize I'm being culturally insensitive. "Actually, any Hindu cow."

JT: Smiling. "No really, I've never heard this expression before."

Me: "Huh?"

JT: "You just said 'Holy Cow' a minute ago in the hallway."

Me: "Did I? Oh. Well, it's a more polite way of saying 'Holy Shit' if you really want to know."

 

I'd just come out of my examination room, and ran into SM. He's the guy I admitted back in February, who came into the clinic having been sent out of the hospital in January with a whammy diagnosis of AIDS and PCP pneumonia. He had to wait a month to be seen in our clinic. And when I saw him that day for his initial visit I admitted him back to the hospital, thinking that his PCP wasn't getting better, that he likely had some TB as well. What the hell, I figured, he looked so bad that I decided we'd just treat him for everything but asthma.. When I left for vacation, I'd just seen him in the clinic, and he was breathing better, but still looked like crap. And so there he was in the hallway, he'd put on weight, he was able to talk without having to stop and catch his breath. I don't know if the "Holy Cow" was when I saw him, or when he asked for a letter saying he was ready to go back to work. That was Thursday.

 

Then on Friday morning, as usual, there were folks milling about outside the entrance the the clinic. The packed waiting room was to be expected. There were already charts pulled, people were ready to be seen by the doctors. It was going to be a hectic day. But hectic is the norm for this clinic anyway. Friday was hectic to a new level, given that we were short four doctors. But really, that didn't induce stress or concern because all that we could do was just plug away and know that at some point we'd get through seeing all 185 patients. I managed to see just over 30 patients during the day. Most were fairly routine. A few were complicated: failing treatment regimens, sick visits, questionable TB diagnoses. In addition to HIV, I meddled in routine management of high blood pressure, diabetes, and epilepsy. But I enjoyed the day. And as I packed up my stuff, I thought back to some of the patients I had seen, and that's when it dawned on me, that I hadn't discussed any of the patients with an attending. Which isn't unusual, per se, but almost invariably I look for guidance on managing an issue, or turn to my attending for help when I'm stuck. But, things had just clicked during the day. There were times when I didn't know for certain exactly what my attending would do in such an instance, but I was confident that I was making good decisions.

 

We, miraculously, finished clinic at 4 pm. And I walked out with AK,  and Dr. T (the other clinic consultant), reflecting on the day in general, but also on how busy the clinic continues to be, with no end in sight, and likely escalation of services. (There are some 500,000 people who still need to get on HIV treatment in SA!). And then there was talk of other clinic business, a conversation which maybe wouldn't involve junior staff in many places. The whole event of Friday's clinic made me feel like I'm an employed doc there. This is why I'm dragging my feet on setting up a new rotation for May and June. I could easily stay in the clinic for two more months. Though, after chatting with AK and Dr T, I went to the wards to try and find a patient that I had admitted, and ran into the Chairman/Professor of Medicine. I hadn't seen Prof in a while, so we chatted about the clinic, and also about my schedule for the rest of the year. We also had a great chat about Kili, and Machu Picchu, and travels in general. And I almost died when he suggested I take a few days off to go travel to the Okavango Delta, in Botswana. [Jean-I hear you].

 

I was home for about an hour on Friday, chatting to my new house-mate (a Kenyan anesthesiologist) and then was out the door to go visit AC. AC was holed up in his house, having had some kind of "face surgery" on Wednesday. I'd been lying to friends all week, saying that AC really had Botox and that it had gone bad and he was too embarrassed to see the world. So I headed up to his neck of the woods, and we had a great evening eating take away, catching up, and watching episodes of Little Britain and other mindless crap on the TV. But it was nice to just have a night in.

 

And then Saturday... I went to the gym in the morning, which I NEVER do. But I knew it was going to be a gastronomic day, so decided to do a little damage control before the damage was had.. And then CB and TB and I (CB, TB, BB-whoa) went for High Tea at the Saxon hotel. Talk about chic. Talk about lavish. Talk about fun. Sitting outside, on a beautiful fall day, sipping champagne, eating scones, cucumber sandwiches, and other heavenly desserts while planning next weekends upcoming backpacking trip in Swaziland was pure bliss. The bill was 630 Rand. That's roughly 63 dollars. For all three of us. Twenty bucks per person for high tea at one of the classiest hotels in Jo'burg. This is why...

 

And then there was a bit of excitement. We were all in separate cars, driving to the outdoor gear shop at the mall, when we came up on a car wreck. A truck had overturned. Thankfully, CB is also a doc. We walked over to Moses and took care of him for the HALF AN HOUR that it took for an ambulance to arrive. Moses had pretty nasty head wounds, which were bleeding pretty profusely. He wasn't really all that bad, aside from blood everywhere, which included on my khaki pants by the time we were done.  And we proceeded to shop, all the while I was hoping people wouldn't notice the blood on my pants. This being Jo'burg, who knows what people would think.

 

Thankfully, I had packed a change of clothes. One never knows when they'll have to render first aid and get all bloody in the process. So I headed over to S&S house to change. Actually, the plan had been to have dinner with S&S, and just before leaving home earlier I'd grabbed some extra clothes, kind of thinking that we were long overdue for a late night in which I usually just crash at their place. So I headed over to their house to just relax on the porch and have a chance to catch up with them. While we were hanging out, David called. He's this lovely guy from Argentina, married to great South Africa guy who had left that morning to start his new job in Abdu Dhabi. So of course we quickly told him he was joining us for dinner.

 

Dinner ended up being 6 of us, with S&S, myself, Clifton (whose boyfriend-the Belgium pediatrician-was out of town, skiing in Europe), Argentina David, as well as British David. The food was decent, the wine was superb--and flowed freely, and the conversation was fun/hysterical-and flowed freely. We must have finally left the restaurant sometime after midnight, and then headed out to go clubbing for a few hours. A few of us ended up back at the house, and we crashed for the night. Well, Siza and I decided it was necessary to continue drinking wine til just past 5am. The morning after usually consists of breakfast, and then we all depart on our way. But after breakfast, we went back to the house, lounged around, and then headed to an Art Show. Not that I have any appreciation for art, but it was fun people watching. As that wrapped up, we bumped into more friends there, so then we all went for coffee, and then ended up back at the house for a bit, and then headed out to dinner. Finally, well past dark, it was time to head home.

 

This is why... I'm having my cake, and eating it too. I know this cake is going to be gone. And I have a hard time thinking that the next cake is going to be this delicious.

 

On Thursday, I got to see SM, in person. To see that he really is better. That he feels better. That he is actually going BACK to work. It's powerful to see folks, who are close to the brink of death from HIV, make these recoveries. And sure, it sucks to see those who don't make it. I find this immensely gratifying. I contrast this to the work I do back home, which I do find gratifying as well, but to me the outcomes back in Massachusetts/USA are more certain. I feel like there is more of a guarantee that folks will get better, but that here, that guarantee is gone, and so there is a level of pleasant surprise when people get better. There is also more of a challenge practicing medicine here. Labs may not come back quickly, x-rays are slower. CT scans are days away, and MRIs are almost nonexistent. You have to make a clinical diagnosis, and plan your treatments, and weather the storm while waiting to see if you're on the right track or not. And it's gratifying to have to use more cerebral power to take care of patients, than to use technological power to figure out what is going on.

 

On Friday, I felt like part of the team. There wasn't a division between resident/attending or junior doctor/consultant. We were all there equally, with the attendings there for problems we couldn't handle. And I'm so familiar in the clinic now that sometimes I literally forget that I'm not employed there, and that, in fact, I'll be gone from this clinic in May. I felt like I had the leeway to practice my own style of medicine. I changed HIV medicines on a few patients. Started different blood pressure medicines. I reveled in the autonomy of Friday. This does become a mute issue after I finish training, period, but it added to the overall pleasure of my work here. I could explain further, how part of the underlying issue is that the repercussions of litigation do not exist (which is not necessarily a good thing). I didn't have to worry that-even though I think I made the best clinical decisions possible, down the road some lawyer would find an article saying that when I changed a medicine or started another one, that I had made a bad decision...

 

And then the weekend... I have to preface this carefully, for it would never be my intention to disrespect the great friends I have amassed back in Massachusetts, back in Dublin, Back in Colorado, and now scattered around the globe (aside from Antarctica). When I lived in Dublin, one day a very close female fiend of mine lamented on how she felt she was missing close friendships with other women. And I was slightly put-off, which showed. What did imply for our friendship? That even though we shared this close friendship, it wasn't of the same caliber as a friendship with a woman? But now I get it. For the first time since I came out (way back), most of my friends in Jo'burg are gay men, and they are great guys. Their friendship is different than the friendships I've had when I lived elsewhere. Looking back, in the past many months, we've often had dinner twice a week, and rarely have we not met up at least once a week. There is a level of trust in our group (so much so that scandals are volunteered openly). It's not like the group of men I think of when I reflect on where I have lived previously. It's unique. And there is the international mixture as well, which adds an extra element to the group as well.

 

And of course, there is Jo'burg and SA itself. I am mesmerized by the workings of the city. I get motivation from seeing those who work so hard, yet have so little. And of course, there is Bara itself, a hospital unlike any other hospital in the world! I don't write this as a comparison to my place back in MA, and folks know that I think the hospital back in MA provides excellent medical care, and that it provides well for us junior doctors, and that the teaching there is top class. If Bara ran as well as that hospital the people of Soweto would be immensely lucky, and healthier.

 

So, this is why I find it difficult to leave here. I can't describe how excited I am to arrive back and see my family, my friends, and the newest additions to both.

 

This is why a part of me will remain a Jo'burger for life.

 

 

March Madness

[disclaimer: I'm too tired to proof and edit]

 

Lucky died. That's the news I received today, when I went back to work--a day early. I was sitting around my house this morning, feeling discombobulated, with an unstructured schedule for so long that I stared at a pile of paperwork, and just decided that I needed to get back to work. So I showed up to the tea room, and there ran into AK (head of ID) and we headed off to start rounding. It turned out to be a stellar Grand Round. We reviewed patients who have differential diagnoses of cysticercosis, hydatid cysts in the liver, and other conditions, which quite honestly I haven't even though of since I was a medical student sitting in a tropical medicine course. It was fascinating stuff, and a part of my brain which has largely been resting, jumped up and was enthused to resume its cerebral functions.

 

As we were walking between wards, I pulled out my sheet of patients whom I had handed off to my colleagues a month ago, and asked them how these patients had done. And that's when I found out Lucky had died. Was it shocking to hear? No, I didn't think he would survive. But also yes-because I was rooting for him. I had some hope that he would make it. The last thing I did at Bara in Feb was to go to his bedside and be with him. I couldn't shake our last conversation and interaction. On the third day of my Kilimanjaro trek, I sat outside the dining tent in the afternoon, sipping tea, and wrote about that final encounter with Lucky. Shaking his bony hand, telling him I'd see him in clinic when I got back, seeing the fear in his eyes, I walked away knowing that I would never see him again. But hearing that he had passed today, still left me disappointed. I will say, that he lived for 2 more weeks in the hospital after I left.

 

JC is well. 5 Days ago, as I was having my morning coffee in Clarens, before driving into Lesotho and losing phone reception, I got a text message from JC. He told me that he's gained 5 Kgs (10 pounds), and that "you won't recognize me when you get back." And sitting there, in the beautiful town of Clarens, I felt perhaps one of the most moving victories thus far, in my time here in SA, but also in my short time as a doctor. He is going to make it. This man who fled his home after organizing protests against a tyrannical government, who sold handmade crafts, who was a professional teacher, and who was neglected for 6 months in a clinic is getting better, and is going to live. And honestly, it floored me that he sent me a text message, to let me know he is better.

 

Even on vacation, I found myself drawn to my work here. On the trails of kili, drinking coffee in Ethiopia, clubbing in Cape Town, I felt guilty knowing that the clinic at Bara was still going, swamped by patients. And even more, my patients were on my mind regularly. So today, much to the wonder of those at work, and those here, I showed up to work early. I was done playing, and ready to get back to business.

 

I provide you now, with a report of the March Madness:

 

 

Kilimanjaro:

There were two definite "to do" things on my list for the year that I am spending in this part of the world. One was to visit Victoria Falls-done. Two, climb Kilimanjaro.  I will confess, that I'm not sure how I came about the decision to do these. Vic Falls, due purely, in part, to see the spectacular falls themselves. But Kili?? Maybe it was when I heard a fellow intern talk about his conquering Kili a few years back. This is also where I confess, that while I knew Kili was the highest point in Africa (5895 meters), up until a few months before I didn't know much else. When I booked my trip a few months back, I didn't even look into all the different route and what were the pros and cons, but rather I popped into my local outdoor guru shop, and asked them which route they thought was best. And that's how I ended up doing the Rongai Route- which is a more direct, less used approach, and is suppose to be pretty challenging.

 

After my good fortune of trekking in Nepal-where I carried my own pack, I felt pretty confident that I'd make it to the top. Which I did. [Insert Robert Persig quote: about the side of a mountain sustaining life, not the top].

 

I stood on the summit of Kili at just after 5am. It was pitch dark, and reported to be -30C. Ideally, the summit time should happen at sunrise, which is closer to 6:30am. People talk about the beauty of the sunrise. But I'm more of a sunset fan, so not seeing the sunrise wasn't an issue. What was an issue was that it was too cold to stay at the top for more than 10 minutes. All 6 layers that I had on-thermals, fleece, down, wind stoppers, weren't enough to insulate me against the cold, and my guide would have been happy to leave after one photo shot and 20 seconds. So, the major disappointment was completely missing the view from the top, and missing the view of the glacier etc. There is a small stoke of the ego, knowing that I was the first to summit Kili on that day, and it was mildly entertaining to hear my fellow climbers tell me later that day how discouraging it was to see my headlamp so far up the mountain. But little did they know, I envied that they really got to marvel the experience being at the top of Africa.

 

The trek was plagued with issues... My tent leaked. So much so, that one night as water accumulated in it (during a viscous storm which turned to snow around 2am), I actually put my down sleeping bag and as much gear as possible in my water proof pack cover, and then tried to sleep for a few hours on my sleeping pad-which I imaged was going to double as a water bed by morning. My guide was mediocre. The cook was a nice guy, constantly stoned, and who actually served me batter and friend bread-more than once. I contribute my need for antibiotics directly to his level of pot usage, in thinking that he was too stoned to boil my water properly, and the murky "pond" that we got water from for 3 days had plenty of organism swimming around in the water, and then my GI tract to make the last few days of the trip somewhat less than ideal hiking conditions. I had never experienced such drastic windburn.. and for days was unable to smile because I was afraid my lips/cheeks/chin would crack and that my face would fall off in parts. But the nice thing was, we all suffered together.

 

In the end, I'm glad I climbed Kili. I learned some valuable lessons: check out the trekking company thoroughly, take my own tent, make sure I treat my own water (which I did 75% of the time given my lack of confidence in stoner cook). I do feel slightly cheated, and if somebody wants to climb Kili.... let me know.  I arrived back and had a day to run errands, and then it was off to Ethiopia.

 

Ethiopia:

Ethiopia was somewhat random. A while back, a friend called me to tell me that she was adopting a child in Ethiopia-which had been in the works for a while, but that now she was matched with a child. When I heard her dates for being in Addis Ababa, it worked perfectly into my schedule, and so I quickly booked a ticket. This I knew: Ethiopia is the HOME OF COFFEE, and the home of LUCY. Fantastic.

 

What struck me most about Ethiopia, was reading about the history before I even got on the plane. I confess, that the only history I usually know of a country is that is provided in Lonely Planet. In fact, I think that there should be World History courses taught entirely by what is written in Lonely Planet. Really, you don't need to know more that what can be summarized into a few pages. My attention to world history details is short enough that I may wonder if I have ADD.. but usually I figure that all of that stuff is in the past, and largely irrelevant to my purposes. But for some reason, when reading the history of Ethiopia, I took notes in the margin, remembered the names of rulers, and felt like I hit the ground with a better knowledge than I mage have of, oh say, American history.

 

My first impression was, I have to admit, dark. But that is because it was nighttime. My friend met me at the airport, and we made our way to the guest house, where we chatted and I was brought up to speed on how the child was doing. Suffice to say, I've been privilege enough to review the medical information provided, including issues pertaining to some more recent medical issues. We strategized a plan for the following day, and the week that I'd be there.

 

My second impression was not much better. Largely because I found the coffee served at breakfast in the guest house to be uninspiring, and the portion of scrambled eggs barely enough to feed a school child.  I made a mental note to get a real breakfast every morning elsewhere.

 

And then we arrived at the orphanage. It's been very insightful to see, second hand, what the adoption process has entailed-on all levels. What prospective parents must endure, how the process is actually conducted, and as well as all the factors that play into international adoptions. And then I saw the orphanage. I confess, that the pediatrician in me cringed at how crowded it was. But it was evident that the children were adequately taken care of, and that the place was dealing as best as it could. I couldn't help by watch/hold/play with infants assessing their development, looking for the subtle signs of HIV etc. I enjoyed meeting my friends future son, but decided I wasn't going to need to revisit the orphanage daily.

 

As for Addis.. It was refreshing to walk around a city. Walk and walk and walk-the best way to experience a new city. It's a bustling city. It's fairly well developed, though that being said, the major roads are tarred, but the side roads are dirt roads which have pocket marks which can engulf small cars and children. Riding by taxi is challenging. What caught me off guard, though, was the amount and persistent of inner city poor, who at times literally lined sidewalks patiently waiting for handouts, by which to survive. I feel fairly seasoned at travelling these days, and have been in resource poor areas for a while now, but the sheer volume, and at times the level of aggressions for handouts did wear on me by the end of the trip. I was taken aback by the number of adult polio survivors who limped around the city. I felt like the "Ugly American" in that at times all I could do was to keep on my sunglasses, look straight ahead, and not even acknowledge the pleas that grabbed my pants or hands looking for assistance. But, the people were pleasant. The stores were interesting. The markets were great. Even Merkato-the main market which is suppose to be known for tourist scams and pickpockets was easily navigated and explored.

 

As for the coffee. Holy shit. Mecca. Wow. Now, don't get me wrong, not every cup was a heavenly blissful feast for the palate... but most were. Coffee is espresso style, macchiato style. Shots. Short and sweet. I buzzed from café to café and silently thanked the powers that be that I was paying 20 to 30 US CENTS per cup of pleasure. But I made it a goal to seek out some variety, and hunt for the best cup. And I have to say, that the bible of travel, Lonely Planet, has nailed it. Tomoca is the most nondescript coffee house I've ever seen, well, aside from the aroma literally hemorrhaging out the door from the coffee roasting going on in back. So, I was skeptical that LP had rally found the best coffee in Addis. But they had. And the locals in the shop swore that it was the best cup to be had in the city.

 

As for Lucy... the famous Australopithecus aferensis skeleton found in 1974. She is the most complete human ancestor, and stood 3.2 meters. I'd learned about Lucy back in undergrad antho/archaeology courses, so to be able to see the museum where she now rested was pretty cool. Except that she is housed in the basement level, in a room with bad lighting, no windows, and worn carpet. Now very posh. (The the real Lucy is not on display).

 

My friend and I took a quick flight to Bahar Dar, which is situated on Lake Tana, almost 600 km NW of Addis. Ask me sometime how we scored very cheap flight tickets- you can negotiate for anything sometimes. Lake Tana is famous for some 22 island monasteries, so we had to visit. I was hoping to meet a nice young monk to settle down with.. Of course, this isn't funny given that Ethiopia is one of the most homophobic countries in the world.. But I was open to the possibility or living on a lake. We left Addis at like 7am, and were on the lake by 9:30 am. Saw a few monasteries. And then just past noon we were in a van headed for Gondeor, which was 3 hours north of Bahar Dar. Gondeor was the capital of Ethiopia circa 1620, and has some amazing old castles. And during our 2.5 hour van ride back, the driver tried to scam us for some money which he had planned to use to buy chat/khat, a mild hallucinogenic plant that you chew.. He did end up buying Khat a little while later (not with our money) and then seemed genuinely shocked when we protested that he wasn't going to be chewing any Khat while driving us. We eventually made it back to Bahar Dar and checked into a hotel. It was a day of flying, boat trip, and 6 hours in a van-I travel hard!

 

More to Ethiopia... I covered Addis Ababa. But there is so much more to Ethiopia.. I'm thinking I'll need to go back, with a month to spare, and money to hire a 4WD and driver and go for 2-4 weeks and explore the area more.

 

On the flight back to Jo'burg, I was shattered. It had been early mornings, up late caffeine fueled exploration. And in Jo'burg, Kevin was exploring the worst neighborhoods awaiting for me to touch down so that we could hang out. The minute we re-united in Jo'burg (not in the CBD where he was spending his tourist time), the fatigue disappeared and we jumped into a frenzied conversation to catch each other up on the going-ons of the past few weeks.

 

Cape Town: What happens in Cape Town...

The departure for Cape Town set the tone. We were delayed for hours. And were booked on 4 different flights. Yet, we were on holiday, had no agenda, and no plans (other than to arrive, pick up the rental car, and wait for Lorcan to arrive). We literally laughed and entertained ourselves for the hours we were delayed. I'm sure our fellow passengers though we'd been drinking most of the morning, I mean who the hell laughs and has fun while getting delayed to head to Cape Town. That was us.

 

Cape Town. Rented BMW. We're going to be the classy gays. Irish Doctor. American Doctor. Irish consultant. We're here to let loose and enjoy life, in the beautiful surroundings of Cape Town. Clubbing til morning. Late start to the next day. Taking the tram to the top of Table Mountain. Walking for hours, having a confession about the night before, having a confession about life in general, making plans for the next few hours, making plans for the next few days, and making plans for the next few years. The Irish head to an Irish pub to join their fellow Paddies watching Ireland gloriously take the 6 Nations Title, while I sit on my balcony watching the sunset in Cape Town, listening to my ipod, lost in thought. Another night out, but not til the early morning. And then a real Sunday Cruise, to Cape Good Hope-the southern point of SA. The night retired at an Indian restaurant sitting outside at Camp's Bay. Monday entering the wine lands, and having lunch in Franshhoek. Seeing Lorcan off at the airport. Checking into our new boutique hotel for the night. Immediately being met in the hotel by an American, from Denver. We escape for dinner, and walk for hours, returning to the hotel to spend a few hours talking to other hotel guests, all of us sitting around drinking wine. And then departure day. Sitting in Cape Town airport, the departure gate symbolizing the end to this 5 days of fun. 5 days of nothing but pure enjoyment. Wine. Clubbing. Luxury hotels. a BMW. Ice-cream (even for breakfast one day).

 

Lesotho:

The plan had been to rent a 4WD and cruise around Lesotho for 4 or 5 days. I arrive back in JHB, get back to my apartment, which feels cold and empty after the sun and friendship of Cape Town. No point in wasting time. I leave in the morning, but know that I'm going to shorten plans. I'm disconnected. On the plane back to JHB, I think of the calls I want to make, people I want to check in with, and then also the realistic commitments which I'm letting slide.. a pediatric case report which I wanted to have written last month, my research here at Bara, a growing list of topics of things I'm reviewing. So I cut this trip short. I spend a great day in Clarens. I zoom down, check into my B&B-which is so gorgeous, with a plus king size bed, and a balcony overlooking the town square that I ponder just spending all day in the room reading, with short jaunts to get coffee. But, I have business to complete here. I was cheated out of hiking the last time I was here, a day of hiking cut short by helping an injured hiker be rescued from the mountain. I ditch my bag in the room, fill my water bottle, and am on the trail. 4 hours. Not another single hiker. Along the ridge as the afternoon starts to end, I'm watching herds of springbok and blesbok run in the meadows below. Why didn't I just bring a tent? I force myself to leave, thinking that the trail will not be forgiving to attempt in the dark.

 

It is the next morning that I get a text message from JC. I cross the border, and make my way to the town where I'll stay for the night. If it weren't for the meeting I have, I may have been tempted to just stay in Clarens. I explore a bit, wondering what my options are. I'm thankful that there is plenty of time to decide what the hell I'll do when I grow up, but this is on the list.

 

I'm back in my own bed.

I am back home.

 

I.

Am.

Back.

Home.

 

I am aware that I arrive back home, exactly 3 months to the day of when I will have left this home, and arrive back in the US. I've spent the past 6 hours listening to music, driving on the N3, trying to recall what it was like 3 months before I left my Colorado home, 3 months before I left my Dublin home, 3 months before I left my Massachusetts home. This is the first time I am leaving one home, to go back to another, and that give a coating of sweetness, to appreciate the reunion with those back home. It'll be a coating of sweetness which may take away the bitterness of leaving Jo'burg. 

 

And now...

It's back to reality. Work. Life. Future. Taxes. Things that were on hold for the past month...

 

I have pictures posted: follow the link over there ->

Hiatus Ending soon

March Madness

 

4 trips

4 countries

10 flights

1 mountain summit

2 courses of antibiotics

Sunburn/windburn/frostbite

New friends

 

Details to follow.... Hopefully on April 1. (no joke)

 

Thanks,

Brian

Reposting

http://javamania75.blogspot.com/2008/03/haunted-halls.html

 

 

March Blogging Hiatus & Experiment.

Dear faithful blog reader,

 

This is the 343rd post to this site. When I posted on March 23rd, 2008. Just under a year ago, I had absolutely no idea if I would follow through on what would become this amazing experience. At the time that I made that post, I shared my concerns privately with some. Would I sink or sail when the time came? Was this a wise or unwise decision?

 

In a posting in April, I was packing up my beloved apartment. I packed up memories of the friends who had stayed there. I packed up my outdoor equipment. I packed up the few worldly possessions which have any value to me-old family photos, completed journals. I packed up journal articles not yet read, and martini glasses which have never been used-a shame, I know.

 

In May, I posted about the meal Lucia and I had in Manhattan. A meal at an Ethiopian restaurant, where we chatted for hours, consuming the injera bread and a sweet honey tasting wine, while talking about our shared experience as medical students at Bara, as well as a mixture of reminiscing memories of Ireland, of excited discussions about future plans...

 

And then it was June. It was a whirlwind. At the hospital I had the amazing pleasure of working with one of my mentors on the wards (this person doesn't know it), of having a farewell dinner with my other mentor (who knows it). I made quick trips to Vermont and New Haven while trying to wrap up finishing details for my impending departure. The next thing I knew, I was at JFK Airport, surrounded by a cadre of friends who saw me board my flight. Little did they know, that as I watched them walk away, I still wasn't convinced I was making the best choice.

 

And since then, via this blog, I've shared.

 

I've shared my personal experiences at the world's largest hospital, treating a population rocked by economic deprivation, on a background history of racial discrimination, and a population burdened by one of the highest rates of HIV/AIDS in the world.

 

I've shared about kids whom I took care of; some who got better, and some who died. I don't think I'll ever forget the morning I heard KR had died. And I'll never forget S, the Ward 18 mascot when we took him to tea break one day, or when I carried him on my back around the hospital. I've shared what it was like to see so many kids brought into the pediatric HIV clinic by their grandparents. A generation is being raised without parents. I'll never forget how furious I was the night I had to keep checking the heartbeat of a 400g baby, who had been delivered by c-section. And the sense of injustice when I certified his death 3 hours later. I didn't share enough about what was probably the most incredible month of learning as a junior doctor, and that was the pediatric cardiology service at Bara.

 

And I shared about life outside of Bara. I shared about trips I've been fortunate to take-trips to Clarens, The Berg, Zimbabwe/Vic Falls, Lesotho, and other weekends trips. I've shared about how I've made friends here who provide refuge when I need some luxury and an escape. I shared a bit of Nepal, and how incredible it was to look up at the surrounding Himalayans and to be looking down as I knelt before the Buddhist monk as I was blessed.

 

And over the past 2 months I have shared what it has been like to work in the adult HIV clinic, as well as my overall introduction to medicine at Bara. I have shared how I can't believe that what I see today seems to parallel what was seen in the US almost two decades ago. Medically stuck in black hole... Not having "the resources" to treat the country which has the LARGEST NUMBER OF PEOPLE INFECTED WITH HIV IN THE WORLD!

 

And since then, there are things I didn't share... And they aren't going to magically appear now.

 

I go back and read these posts often. Sometimes I can recall being at the gym as I thought about how to write what would eventually end up as a post. Sometimes I remember sitting with a glass of wine or whiskey or coffee and getting lost in a train of thought midsentence, or going back and re-working a post and removing the blame which I had written in the post, which may have been misguided. Often times, I cringe at the typos and grammatical errors.

 

What may not be apparent, is the time that goes into this blog. Not that I mind, at all. But I find myself needing a bit of a break. I take immense gratification knowing that what I write, has been read. That I have been fortunate enough to share a bit, so far, of this amazing year. That, unlike one or two close friends of mine who also keep blogs, I haven't received criticism from anything that I have posted.

 

I find myself with a lot of things on my plate, and a lot of great plans for March. (Heading off to climb Kilimanjaro, meeting a friend in Ethiopia-as she meets her future adoptive son, heading to Cape Town to whoop it up with a dear friend from Ireland, and then returning to the mountains of Lesotho). I find myself needing a bit of a break from keeping up the blog, thought I will try to add a tidbit here or there of what I've been up to on these travels. 

 

But, that is where you come in. This is what I'd like to do: For the month of March, I'd like to open up my blog, for you to post. It's quite simple. You merely send an email to javamania75.guest@blogger.com and that email will instantly appear on this blog. The post will be anonymous (unless you add your name to the email). For example, all of the posts that I have made have been from my hotmail account, using the address. [note: if your work email adds a privacy/security clause to the bottom of the outgoing email, it will automatically appear].

 

I ask that you please, please, please do not post about me. Please post about something which you think is in the spirit of this blog (being outraged at the conditions in Zim, or your own neighborhood, an experience of disparities in care/treatment/service). A joke. A News clip. Your favorite recipe. A new coffee shop. A post from about a day at your work. A post on your reaction to what I've posted over the past 8 months. There will be a guest moderator who will removed or edit posts as needed. You never know what whackos are out there who stumble across this site (or are reading this site) and will post some kind of advertisement for lengthening of a part of the male anatomy, or pills which will cure problems with that part of the male anatomy, or some guy in a foreign country who needs your bank details so they can put one gigabillion dollars in your account while they sell a kidney and then you wake up in a burned forest with Elvis.

 

May March usher in the start of spring, or fall depending on where you are in the world. I'll be back, full force in April when I will resume posts from the Adult HIV clinic at Bara.

 

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