quick response, lethargic response

It was one of those African days where nothing goes right, but if it does, it takes at least twice a long as it should. Henry and I searched for a rolex (Ugandan breakfast burrito) on the way back to the site from kampala. It took a while to find, but finally I bought one. So then are driving the rest of the way to the site, when we see a boy fall off his bike. He scrambled up off the road, but as we pass we saw blood. We stop to check it out, and I grabbed my small first aid box. Henry informed me my band-aids weren’t going to work.

Blood spurted and ran down the boy’s hand. Lots of blood. I saw a broken glass bottle by the bike and several Ugandan children standing around. He had sliced an artery. Let’s take him in the truck. Henry put some clean paper around the hand and showed me where to press. The boy and I got into the back of the pickup, and henry drove us to the clinic. I tied my shoelace around the boy’s arm, but I couldn’t get the shoelace out of the shoe, so I had to cut the shoe off the shoelace. The doctor was out. So we got back in to the pickup and drove to the next clinic. The doctor was out. Third clinic; same thing. By now there is a pool of blood in the back of the pickup. I would get the bleeding stopped, then it would get bumped and start bleeding again. So much blood. Henry decided to quit checking every clinic and just take the boy to a hospital in Entebbe. So I brace myself holding the pickup, and the boy; telling him to breathe deep breaths and not to worry. He told me he is called Francis and he is 14yo. I notice he hasn’t cried at all yet. He did throw up from the shock tho. Henry is a genius driver; he didn’t hit anything or anyone. That is a miracle considering all the people and cows, and bodas, and goats, and bikes, trucks, etc wandering all over the road. He even slowed down for the evil speed bumps, well most of them. The second to last hid in the shadow of a tree. Henry hit it going pretty fast, and both of us passengers in the back flew up. I hit my head on the roof of the canopy pretty hard. Immediately I found a sizable bump up there. Henry swerved over to a group of bodas and pays one of them to lead us to the nearest hospital in Entebbe. And we drive off again, onto the paved road.

We drive in the gate of the hospital, the guard looks in the back of the pickup and says we must take the boy to the second gate. So we drive to the second gate and take the boy into the room labeled “triage”. Ok, the boy is in medical hands, I can relax now. I sit down, hug my knees and cry for a few minutes. Yes, im admitting I cried. Henry locked the car and invited mein to get cleaned up. I forgot that now I have blood on my arms and legs. Ever tried to wash your legs in a sink? Its kinda hard. So Henry washed them for me. I got some pain pills for my head and curled up on one of the beds watching them care for the boy. Or rather, fail to care for the boy. They seemed to be more interested in my bump on the head and headache than the boy who started to bleed little rivers again. They asked Henry if I was his wife. No, no, im his daughter (that’s the closest relationship to ours that Ugandans understand). I had hoped the medical staff would act different than the rest of Uganda. But no. the nurses put on their aprons and gloves, take them off again, put them on again. I saw them cutting pieces of gauze, but realized they were making straps for the aprons. They finally wrapped his hand in gauze, then left it. The blood quickly soaked thru, and started running down to the floor again.

So much blood. Where is the doctor? the doc finally got there, looks at the boy, answers his cellphone, walks out again. Comes back, checks on me. Good grief, stop worrying about my bumped head and treat the boy. Finally, Henry puts on gloves and tried to stop the bleeding. After a few minutes he stopped and came over to my bed, sweating and looking pale. Apparently the mixed smell of blood and long-unwashed body can make someone nauseas. “Henry, you look white…I mean, more white than you already are.” He smiled, then started to faint. He is a fairly solid guy to catch. So I laid him out on the bed and told him to stay. The doctor came over to check on us, still not having done anything about the boy. I told Henry if I ever cut off my hand, just send me to Kenya for medical care – I would be faster that way.

Finally the nurses shooed us out to go sit on a bench. Henry told me when he was starting to faint, he actually wanted to laugh at the ridiculous little doily pinned to one of the nurse’s hair. We saw several different sort of doilies, all ridiculous and small, but no little hats. So we sat out there joking about doctors and Ugandans. He kept apologizing for my bumped head. So much so that I told him if he didn’t stop feeling guilty, that I would punch him. He stopped apologizing. The nurse came out with the boy’s pants and shoes. “here are his shoeses and his closes (clothes), when he goes, he goes with it.” We just started giggling at that. They obviously didn’t want his clothes that had blood and vomit on them. They finally stitched up and patched up the boy. They gave him a tetanus shot, but no painkillers, and didn’t wash the blood off the rest of him.

We finally got the boy back in truck, rolled down the windows and turned on the fan since this time we all got into the cab of the truck. We drove rather more sedately back to the site, where the guys all helped to clean out the truck and disinfect it. I got to call mom and hear her voice. We took the boy home, I gave him some pain pills so he could sleep, explained to his mother how we ended up having him with us, and then finally drove back to Kampala. John Paul mentioned as how this was one of those days where going home you just feel like you got kicked all day long.
Apparently the guys didn’t have an easy time of it either.

The boy never cried. He lost 1 ½ liters of blood. 3 liters is critical. And that was with Henry’s crazy driving into town. I don’t understand the lethargic manner of the Ugandan doctors and nurses towards the amount of blood. Why didn’t they help him faster? I hurt the next day pretty bad cuz my back doesn’t respond well to trauma. But I knew I would probably get hurt when I got into the back with the boy. Just like Henry knew he might hit something. But we both knew that boy could die if he didn’t get stitched up fast, or fast-ish.