Mombasa, Kenya: 23

It is not often that I get to experience something that is both interestingly beautiful and also disturbing. This sleepy day in Mombasa was one such day. I went into the main theatre and was just meandering around to see what surgeries were happening when I managed to bump into a fellow student who explained that a c-section was about to be preformed. I have observed many surgeries so, naturally, I thought I could handle observing this procedure. I’m watching the surgeon make incisions and I’m thinking that it opening up looks like it always does. At this point the doctor manually breaks the water and I see her grab retractors and simply pull apart the sides of the abdomen and stick her hand in the incision. I don’t know all the logistics of what she was scrounging around for in there but it seemed like she was searching very slowly and thoroughly and then BAM! She has the baby by the leg and is wriggling her out of the womb. Once she is fully immersed in the cold harsh air of the operating room we here a few short cries and the doctor turns to show us this brand new person. The baby is whisked away and the doctor and first assistant turn back to the mother. I cannot take my eyes off the baby. She is making something that sounds like it could be crying but she is an almost perfect color blue. I see the nurse smack her on the back a few times and get the suction and oxygen situated. I know that right in front of me the doctor’s are working away on the mother and she’s got blood everywhere and I should turn my eyes back to her but I just can’t. After a few moments I see the nurse relax and I feel like I should go in and see the baby for myself. I am so relieved at the sight of the baby turning the right color pink that I immediately feel exhausted and want to have a lie down. I must’ve been holding my breath for the entire procedure. Both mama and baby were okay and I feel myself realizing that all the jokes I have made about opting for a c-section are not funny anymore. It was one of the more brutal procedures I have ever seen and I have gained a respect for my own mother for enduring this process and still loving me and Abram.

After that ordeal I went into the next theatre as a 3 year old was being brought in for an umbilical hernia repair. This procedure was totally chill and I was feeling much better about the whole situation because I knew when the surgeon made the incision nothing alive was going to come out.

I then skipped on down to minor for a bit and redressed some wounds before heading out for lunch and a nap.

The lesson from this morning is that I should respect the fact that so much has been done to allow us to save babies who are breech or who need to be delivered quickly for whatever reason but I should also respect the way that our bodies are made to have babies.

I returned to the hospital for a second shift tonight and it was not so pleasant. I haven’t felt this helpless since I have been here. A group of us went into the ER and the fact that they call it “Casualty” became increasingly ironic as the night went on. Joel was the presiding physician because the entire staff has no sense of urgency. The rest of us were doing things like putting in lines and getting oxygen. I sutured a little boys foot from start to finish without any supervision and it was only 2 stitches and maybe the most nerve wrecking experience since I’ve been here. We saw a little boy sitting waiting to be treated and then saw him being carried to a morgue.

It took someone else to make this situation positive for me tonight. As we are all sitting in minor sweating and totally discouraged by the sight of people still lying in beds being unattended to, Joel reminds us that because we were here tonight a man got upstairs much quicker for an appendectomy, a woman got her leaky IV changed, a baby got a breathing treatment and oxygen, a young boy received sutures for his foot wound, and a woman’s oxygen levels were raised because we managed to get a mask her. I can see that a lot was done tonight but I have never been more motivated to hurry up and get my degree so that I can have the knowledge that I need to help people and not be trapped by my own ignorance.

The lesson from tonight was simply a reminder that I am one small figure in a much larger picture. The arrogance that often accompanies a career in medicine has been effectively negated by my experience tonight in Casualty. I was in constant prayer tonight and have had the sinking and unnerving realization that I do not have the power to save these people, ever. Even if one day I have the knowledge to prolong their life, one day it must end. I need the Lord for nights like this, so that I can remember to put things in eternal perspective, and so that I can remember that when I am weak, He is strong.