The Real Starving Children of Africa

We're already at the halfway mark in our time at Mukinge, which is difficult to believe. I took call yesterday evening, and it was much more intense than the first night. Unlike at home where call consists of nothing but admitting kids, kids, and more kids, call last night involved a bit more. It started with a C-section at 0100 in the morning for twins! I'm so used to being on the receiving end, waiting at the incubator for the babies, but this time, I scrubbed in with Dr. Friend, the surgeon. Unfortunately, I had to leave before everything was finished as one of the malnutrition babies, Enny, was not doing well. The first time I met Enny, I knew she was really sick. She was the epitome of a starving child in Africa, with her tiny face and peeling skin and barely enough energy to keep her eyes open. Although we were already at the end of our rope in treatment options, I was really hoping that she'd pull through. Of course, on my second day here, when I rounded on my own for the first time ever and was feeling quite clueless, Enny's mother thanked me for coming here to help take care of her baby. It made it so much worse last night when there wasn't anything I could do. I've never ran a code by myself before, and I don't think I can even count this one as my first. I didn't even have a bag valve mask that fit her emaciated face. There was definitely no epinephrine. We didn't even do compressions as the force would have crushed her fragile body for no long term use. I felt incredibly helpless as I listened to her chest to find no heartbeat and to hear her mother start to wail as the rain was pouring down outside. That's the tragedy of practicing medicine here. And it doesn't stop with Enny. On rounds yesterday alone, I wished that I could have ordered a CT scan on a child that continues to deteriorate neurologically, a calcium on a baby that has facial and extremity twitches, even a simple renal panel! We take so much for granted at home without even thinking about the cost or the alternatives to not having all of modern medicine at our fingertips. And yet, there is still hope here, there is faith in God so openly expressed that it makes me embarrassed of my own suppression of faith when we have so much more to be thankful for. Success stories do happen here. Children who are swollen and lethargic from starvation can get better and it's so amazing to see these apathetic skeletons wake up into playful smiling children. I am honored to be here and pray that I can somehow be a blessing to those I see every morning. Although I will not cure AIDS or find a solution to world hunger or even prevent malaria, I hope that my brief time here helps someone somehow, and that I in turn can become a more compassionate, wiser physician and human being.