KENYA CHRONICLES: She Warned Me . . .

I sat on the floor of a friends home in Raleigh, North Carolina when I “met” DeAnn. It was a FaceTime interview on my very old iPad after driving across the country. She spoke passionately about the project at hand. I was excited. She also tried to paint a picture of the situation we would be walking into.

She told me about makeshift breathing treatments and lack of resources. Of too many sick children for one tired nurse to take care of. She also told me about witnessing 7-8 deaths in a two week time period that she was there before. She drew the best picture words possibly could of the very different and sometimes sad situation we would be walking in to.

And I prepared myself. I knew seeing so many children die would be difficult. I knew there would be situations where I would struggle because if I had the resources I had at home I could make a difference . . . save a life. But I would not be at home. I would be at a county hospital with limited resources and very sick children.

Fast forward about 6 weeks and I have flown half way across the country and found myself in a meeting with hospital administration. I had no idea that in just minutes my life would be changed forever. Words will fail me just as the words I had been given were not enough either. But the reality is no words can do justice to the sights, sounds, smells and feels. By feels I mean that while the weather outside was quite nice, 80 degrees with a cool breeze. But as I cross into the threshold of the pediatric ward where I would spend my time there; the hot, stale and humid air swallowed me and a perspiration that never resolved the entire time I was there began. We wore white lab coats to distinguish ourselves although Im pretty sure my white skin was doing an adequate job of it! I joke of course, we were professionals and professionally dressed but that made a hot environment even more stifling. Not to self- next time find a lighter weight hot sleeve lab coat.

The next thing I couldn’t help but notice was the smell. As an ER nurse I have had my fair share of volatile smelling aromas but this was different. About 10 feet beyond the entrance was the “patient washroom” that I honestly never fully went in to. I could see from the door a “squatty potty” which was simply a hole in the ground for people to use. So a hot hole of sewage might be a good descriptor. At about the same time you begin to notice the smell of infected wounds and burns as the surgical cube was directly across from the washroom. Add to that the smell of hot diarrhea, body odor of many sweaty mothers and fathers. And the smell of death. If you have never smelled it there is nothing I can say that will pain that picture for you but just imagine walking in to the perfect storm of sad and repulsive odors, steaming up from the shared beds and heated by the lack of circulation.

I have to pause for a moment. Take a deep breath, as much as I could without taking in too much of my reality. But it was a lot to take in. Beautiful Kenyan children everywhere. When they smiled it was with every ounce of their face. Beautiful white teeth shining through. But they were also sick. Some very sick. Two and three children sharing one bed each with a parent. Young boys with traction tying them to a bed. Open wounds with flies landing on them. Deceased children with flies on their eyes. Burns to faces, torsos and arms. Other children gasping for air. A nurse for all of these children, sometimes not even there. Sometimes so hopeless in the situation that they sat at the desk all day and allowed new students to provide all of the care. And so many people. The oxygen bed with 3-5 babies on it. Oxygen tubing spliced with NG tubes and giving sets. But the oxygen ran out “sometime last night. It was an interesting and sad combination of beauty and pain.

And finally the sounds are ringing through my ears. Maybe it is just because I’m an introvert but this definitely does not sound anything like a typical American hospital. At least none that I have ever been to. It sounded like loud, chaos. Children crying and screaming. A few laughing. Mothers speaking loudly to each other. Much like having 50 televisions playing different things all at once in a small room.

And then we completed our walk through of the pediatric ward, exiting on the other side. The sun once again hit my face and a small breeze brought the fresh air I so desperately needed. I would step out of that door briefly many times over my stay there and take that sun and air in like my life depended on it. But still, every time I stepped back in, or came back from lunch or started my day; it was the same. An oppressive, stifling environment that no warning would ever prepare me for. But she did try. She warned me.