Elastic Limit

Even the best fall down.

The healthcare system almost always never fails to disappoint sometimes, and its not funny improvising all the time. I am a human being. I have all faculties in order. I am no super hero. I cry, I tire, I laugh, and above all, I get sick too!

I am only as human as you.

So somebody please explain to me, why I shouldn't throw a fit because I literally spend day, night and the next day in theatre.

To the patient, he/she is a single case, but to the doctor, its 20 to 25 new, different cases, all needing undivided attention. I am clad in the same raggedy scrubs the nurses left me in last night when their shift was over. I am the sleepy nagging doctor who is asking to be transported home because I am tired, yet it is broad daylight.

I feel like collapsing by the roadside, hungry and burnt by the sun, for people to scamper towards me trying to bring me back into consciousness. I am too tired to process my surroundings. With this level of fatigue, I am now a hazard to myself, and to my patients, if I do not get some food, and some sleep.

Is this what is called a "calling?" Is the calling to serve, also a calling to suffer?

To the patients' relatives, they are hounding me down the corridors to write them a mandatory discharge summary against medical advice, without properly understanding the implications of their decision, despite the explanations. Worse, they too are swamped with economic burden, and we all stare at each other, helpless.

To my landlord, he wants to kill me for delaying my rent and I can't tell him that my mandatory expenditure exceeds my insult of an income.The phone is ringing, every second, louder and louder, different callers with different needs, all needing attention at the same time!!! I let out a loud shriek, look at my run down phone and with all my might, I throw it against the concrete wall as hard as I can..,and watch it disintegrate into a million pieces..

I walk slowly to the wall,pick up my SIM card and walk away, as the nurses, patients, relatives, orderlies stare in shock and disbelief. I am noble, I am supposed to keep my cool. Instead, I let the scene play in my head, and to the rest of the world, I smile and walk away.. slowly.

Yes.. the time has come.

But, whom am I angry at? Certainly not to the patients..nor the relatives..after all, aren't they the same people being mistreated by bureaucracy? Ati you can't go to theatre unless you buy your own nail and screws? Unless you buy your own tube for inserting in your chest? Unless you buy your own Plaster of Paris and bandages if you ever wanna walk again? 
Aren't these relatives the same ones who have to rush home, do spot harambees, or sell the remaining cow or goat, or give your log books and title deeds to a shylock just so that your loved one can be attended to? Don't we feel the same frustration? I feel the same way! I feel it too. I am the patient. I am the relative too.

I totally feel how weak the health system is...every single day.

Same script, different patients.

Because I run out of gloves, I touch you, the patient with my bare hands. You feel better, you go home and I spend 28 days swallowing anti HIV medication because I handled you. But you never get to know that. Now you do. The reason I shall contemplate to stitch your bleeding hand, with minimal resources, is because I either watch you bleed, knowing full well there is no blood to transfuse you if you bleed further.
 To the pregnant mother giving birth, I try my very best even as I intercede for you under my breath, for divine control. You hate me sometimes, but you fail to realize that I am on your side. I wake up every day to help you.

I can't write enough on this topic. I can go on and on forever. I am noble, but everything reaches a breaking point.

I can't continue playing nice, and adapting. I cannot in all consciousness, continue supervising death due to lack of life saving supplies. I cannot allow those who died, to have died in vain.

I am done. As well as every other doctor.

Which is why, I, Daktari Wa Mtaa, on behalf of every Kenyan doctor, apologizes in advance, for what is about to happen.. I will take to the street on Monday, and shout for you. And lobby for you. And open your eyes. And survive. Let me do this. let me help you, the way you truly deserve. In turn, help me too. After all, I am only human.

I will show you exactly that... On the 5th Of December, 2011. I will go blue!

In memory of a 29 year old doctor, Dr. Henry Gatune, a super brilliant doctor who died of complicated malaria, simply because he could not afford a tube in time to save his kidneys, and the system only rushed him through the KNH rickety lifts towards the Dialysis Unit just because he was breathing his last. Yes, a full blown doctor died in the system, serving the system, for the system.

You did not die in vain, Dr. Gats...THIS IS IT!!!

And we will die trying.

Long live the Union.

Long live Kenya.

Days Of Our Lives

" Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives..."

I walked down the stairs from my apartment and bumped into my neighbour, attempting to jumpstart his run down automobile. He looked up, and with a broad  smile on his face, chirps, "Morning Daktari?"

"Fine, thank you,"I replied cheerfully, and walked past. However, there was nothing fine about anything. My car had broken down, and instead of the mechanic fixing and bringing it back yesterday, he had decided to turn it into a taxi for the night.

But, I cannot say that. So, my neighbour asked to give me a lift to work, and I almost reminded him that his car is as dead as mine, but I bit my tongue. I continued on, and he continued about his business.

I hurriedly but carefully sauntered through the estate,careful not to break my high heels as I am not used to having this corporate look to work. I did not even know how to balance properly. Wearing heels was just painful. But I was required to look the part. Daktari had to be smart, polished and articulate. Not a bad mood, not a bad word, not a hair out of place. I rubbed my eyes and squinted into the sun, worried about the eyebags; as a result of two hours' sleep, since I had to locum the whole night. I had to locum to survive.

Locum...this is the equivalent of a DJ in a nightclub, every other weekday, having worked 9 hours or more, on the regular day job.

The only difference, was that "The sound of Music" was indeed the sound of monitors beeping, children screaming, parents yelling, ambulances howling and making their way into the hospital, carts being wheeled around in the dead of the night.

On the TV perched next to the ceiling, covered by a metal grill to avoid being stolen, an "AfroSinema will be back-oh" show would be on, sometimes muted, sometimes on with nobody caring to listen or watch.

Locum..the part time "McDonalds" for doctors where they earn an extra buck per hour just to supplement their sad, sometimes disillusioned lifestyle. It's like "kuomba squadi ya makanga"..I believe any chap from Eastlands will understand what I mean. I mean, working beyond measure, all nervous and looking over your shoulder fleetingly,eyes darting each time as if waiting for a time bomb, all in the name of putting food on the table..

Back to present day..

So, I got to work, groggy eyed, and walked straight to the Dr's Room. I put on my labcoat, place my name tag and straighten the stray strands of braids off my face as I gaze into the mirror. Red eyed, fatigued to the bone, and trying to block the mental image of the numerous number of men, women and children sitting at the waiting bay.

"This is really going to be a long, long day," I thought wearily to myself.

"Please send the first patient in", I talk into the telephone.

Shortly, a burly man walks in,and says he wants a sick-off due to vomiting. He is a walking saturated human alcoblow, I'm not sure if he is even aware of where he is. I gently scold him about the effects of alcohol, as he rolls his bloodshot eyes and peers into mine as if to question if we are sailing in the same,drunken rocky boat. Defeated, I sort him out. Next, a woman with two babies walks in, and one has a fever. "Okay, this one is ill.."I mutter to myself. I examine, investigate and prescribe medication.

And the beat goes on.

At lunch hour, my rogue mechanic clad in oily overalls brought back the jalopy, slapped me with a hefty bill, and casually told me that "gari imewasha taa sababu alitumia ile mafuta yote ilikuwa kuenda test drive".

The rest of the day rumbles on, and at 4pm, my shift is over. I clock out of work and drive back home at 30 km/h, too tired to place my foot anywhere, even on the accelerator pedal. Yes, I am the one you hoot at for 'being slow and stupid' on the highway. I get home, climb up the stairs groggily, turn the key in the lock and stumble into the house.

I slump into the chair, numb with fatigue, and as I drift off to sleep, hungry as hell but too tired to open my mouth, the last thought trailing in my mind is this..

That, I, Daktari Wa Mtaa, after the struggle, I am tired, hungry, disillusioned and broke. 

That I have worked 38 hours today (in a 24 hr day), non-stop, on my feet, with pay that can make one wail and gnash their teeth.

That I have been insulted, jeered at, puked at, thanked by some (read few), walked out on, and said nothing...all in order to stay and remain noble..as is required of me.

That sometimes I think I was crazy and out of my mind to even dare to pursue a career in medicine, if the trade off was to work like a horse and feel like a slave.

That I have to dig deep, and keep it moving, to balance between caring for my patients and pay for my bills.

That something has got to give. 

That I need a break.. and time to rest..if I can afford it.., in an attempt to afford to live..or die trying..everyday..

That, tomorrow, I have another locum, so I better cancel all my dates, because duty calls..

They say it is a calling..

Help me God, before I become the patient..

#DWM

The Journey Of A Thousand Miles

My Fellow Human,

I can totally attest to the fact that writer's block exists. You start writing, hit the cursor and before you know it, you have drawn a long line on your page, then hit the delete and the close button simultaneously.. and log out.

What we fail to realize is that time and tide waits for no man. We die way before we say the things we have always wanted to say. We transfer ,leave, exit, end, walk away,with all the things we should have said that we never said.

So, today, for my first blog, I wanna dedicate it to the sum total of people and events that have shaped me into who I am, who I can be, and to whom I will be.

• To my parents, whom without them I simply would not exist, and to whom I believe they would have laid down their lives for me to live. To my siblings, who I grew with, fought with, learned from, emulated, and aspired to have even a fraction of their good qualities within me.. I wonder what would become of me without this crazy family.

• To my friends, who I have been with in school,in the estate,from childhood truancy to high school crushes,to campus heartbreaks and to glimpses of true love,all contributing to the conclusion of my beliefs and the philosophy that I uphold today..I love you all, my friends. Blood may be thicker than water, but friends,indeed, are the family I choose.

To my perceived enemies, trolls if any, real or imagined, even if for a short period of time, or over the years, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I bear no grudge. You have been a milestone in my life,a blessing in disguise. You have tested my strength and patience far beyond the horizon..you have sharpened me,refined me and enabled me to endure hurdles I did not fathom I could go through.

•  You made me stand tall, and stay strong. Why? Because it was the only choice I had, and still have. Today, I love you with all of my heart. Peace be unto you.

• Over and above all, I thank my most valued clients, the friends that I am making, and will continue to have a relationship with for years to come- and that is..my patients. Each and every one of you teaches me something invaluable. I am in every way, just like you.
•  I hurt,I bruise, I feel pain, I cry, I have sleepless nights, and I need answers and solutions just like the ones you ask from me. I hope I remain and continue to make a positive difference and impact in your lives, while remaining as real and as human as possible. Science is powerful.

I believe in the Most High God,without Him, I would be dead. In more ways than one.

Join me,as I navigate through the life and times of Daktari Wa Mtaa.

Buckle Up!!!!

#DWM