First, I’m ok. I wasn’t injured or
hurt. I did, however, have Dengue fever. The worst symptom was a
fever that only lasted 3 days. Things could have been a LOT worse. I’m very
grateful for the access to medical care; all things considered Peace Corps does
a great job of getting us the help we need.
However, if I never have to step foot
into a hospital in this country again, I’ll die a happy person.
Ok, I feel bad being so negative. The
doctors and nurses here are trying their best to comfort and aid the people of
Pemba with limited resources, education, and experience.
The hospital at Pemba is a good size.
It might be considered small in America, but in Mozambique it’s big and modern.
There’s a waiting room and everything! As I walked into the waiting room the
first thing I noticed was how clean it was (phew!) and the second is how bare
it is. The waiting room has about five chairs for the thirty people that are
inside – there’s another 20 outside. There’s no paintings or decoration on the
wall, just a muted yellow. I speak to the guy at the window; I tell him I have
a consulta con Doctora Suzanna. He seems
surprised and says I can go through the doors.
I walk through and see a bright
hallway. To the left are what seem like more waiting rooms, and on the right
are patient rooms: six beds each and, just like the waiting rooms, bare. No
large machines, no drawers, no counters, no desks. There is one station that
has the nurses tools and a trashcan. This is on wheels and moved around when
the nurse needs to draw blood.
After walking down the hall, I realize
I don’t know where I’m going. I ask the first nurse I see where I can find Dra.
Suzanna. The nurses are mostly male; I only see 1 female nurse while I’m there.
They are dressed in white slacks, and a white button down with the same yellow
color at the edge of their short sleeves. I’m immediately asked if I have Dra.
Suzanna’s number. That’s just how it works I guess. There’s no line, no office.
Just, “You got her number?”
I call Dra. Suzanna and she tells me
to continue walking down the hall where I find her talking with a patient. She has another nurse grab a chair for me
while she finishes.
As I sit in the hallway watching the
nurses walk back and forth, I try and figure out what’s different. In all
honesty, it seems to have everything a hospital should. In November, I visited
a hospital in a Carapira, Province of Nampula. This hospital was four buildings with the word “Hospital”
written on it. That’s about all that
made it an actual hospital. However, Pemba is clean with doctors, nurses, janitors;
waiting rooms, beds, and chairs. It looks like a hospital, but there is something that just feels different.
After about ten minutes of waiting, I notice how calm everyone is. No one seems
to be in a rush. The nurses walk leisurely down the hallway. They pause to
great one another, they chat, they move on. The doctors speak with the patients
in quiet voices. Family members sit quietly nearby. There’s no loud chatter, no
TVs, no beeping machines, no PA system. No
nurses are running to save patients, no doctors shouting medicine dosages and
commands. It’s just… quiet.
Eventually, I speak with Dra. Suzanna
and get blood drawn for a malaria test. I can’t help but be nervous; I’ve never
liked needles. It certainly does not help when the nurses tie that rubber band
around my arm and pull on it until my arm is blue. Even with the rubber band pinching
me, the nurse had a hard time finding a vein. Hovering over my skin, debating
where to poke me. By the time the nurse decides where to stick his medium of
torture in my arm, I’m breathing loudly. The nurse asks if I’m afraid.
Duh.
He finally pokes me, and I do the one
thing I’m not supposed to do, I look. The nurse pulls back the syringe and no
blood comes out! Uh… that’s not supposed to happen. I sit there while he digs
around under my skin for what seems like FOREVER. As I’m trying to figure out
how to say “I’m dizzy” in Portuguese he pulls out the needle and I just lay
down on the dirty sheet.
“Precisa descansar?” Do you need to rest?
“Sim. ” Fuck you.
After a few moments, I start to feel
better and got to experience a uniquely Mozambican experience. The nurse that
just almost killed me begins flirting with me.
“So how long will you be in
Mozambique?”
“Two years.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a teacher.”
“An
English Teacher?”
“Yes.”
“I want
to learn English.”
“That’s
nice.”
“Can you
teach me?”
“No.”
“Can I
come visit you?”
“Nope, my
director won’t let me have visitors.”
“Your
director is not right. How will you meet people?”
“I can
get Malaria.”
At that
point he left me alone.
Turns out I didn’t have malaria. I had
to have my blood drawn two more times in order to find out I had Dengue fever. As
much as I wanted to kill the nurse, the doctor was very kind and explained
everything slowly and clearly. Dra. Suzanna wrote out a prescription (on a
scratch piece of paper that had test results on the back – No HIPA here!) and I
was on my merry way.
Side note: I left the hospital without
paying a dime and a generic prescription only cost 5mts or roughly 17 cents.
