Posts Tagged With: global orthopaedics

Difficult Discussions: Flunking Sainthood Day 24

Busy day in surgery today, as well as seeing consults between cases.  The surgeries went fine, but what was really hanging over the orthopaedic resident and I today was a discussion we needed to have with a patient and his family.  Last week, we worked hard to save the life of the man who had a terrible injury to his pelvis and leg.  You might remember a photograph of a mangled leg accompanied by warnings not to look if you would find it disturbing.

Thankfully, he has stabilized.  He has gone from the intensive care unit, to the intermediate care unit, and today was able to transfer to the regular men’s ward.  His blood pressure has stabilized, and we have been taking him to surgery every two or three days to clean out his wounds, and remove damaged tissue.

The leg is teetering on the edge of being salvageable.  The bones and muscles are so damaged that he has little hope of a well-functioning limb.  Though his hip, knee, and ankle are fine, the areas in between are mostly devoid of functioning muscle, and severely fractured.  We have had discussions with him over the last days, but wanted to have a family care conference today so everyone was on the same page.

His social situation is far more complex than I could have imagined.  He is an orphan.  Both his mother and father have died, but we did not discuss how they died.  His father had three wives, two of whom are still living, so we had the discussion with a dizzying array of uncles, in addition to his brother and older sister.  Decision making authority rests with the patient, as he is lucid and capable of making his own choices.  Kenya has a strongly family-oriented culture, however, so group discussions and consensus building are vital.

The relatives strongly recognize that they may be held accountable by other family members for medical decisions, so they made it clear that they would abide by “whatever the doctors decide.”  This puts a little too much authority in our hands, however, as the final decision needs to be up to the patient.

Thankfully, the family had outstanding English skills, and communication skills in general, and the Kenyan resident I’m working with filled in my language and cultural blind spots.  We had a long and intricate discussion, and each person voiced his perspective and concerns.  I’ve been in discussions like this a number of times, and I’m often struck by the patience, careful listening, and gentle pace of the dialogue.  It is vital for the health care providers to understand the depth and breadth of implications of decisions like this.  In the end, we met privately with the patient, who was markedly comforted by the group consensus.  We discussed his options again, prayed with him, and he expressed his decision.

The plan is to do everything we can to save his leg, regardless of cost, number of surgeries, or length of treatment.  If at any point we feel like the endeavor is hopeless, or is putting his life at risk, we will communicate this with the patient and with the family.

For this man, I think this is the best decision.  If things go well, his leg will work a little better than a prosthesis would.  Moreover, his psychological and social situation would make amputation an unusually devastating blow.  He and his extended family realize that this is a real possibility, but they would all rest easier with this decision knowing that every effort had been made.  Remarkably, one of the uncles present is on a disability awareness council, and repeated the mantra that “disability doesn’t mean no ability.”  He is encouraging his nephew that, regardless if he winds up with an amputation or not, he can continue with a productive life.

I feel privileged, if also saddened, to be part of discussions like this.  Kenya is a country with a high incidence of motor vehicle violence, and few doctors to treat the suffering.  We may or may not succeed in saving this man’s leg, but I am pleased that he knows he is cared for by his family and by the staff here at Kijabe.

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French Toast and Trauma: Warning, Disturbing Image

Weekends are hard to predict around here.

I’m on trauma call for the hospital, so I need to stay close to home and close to my phone.  But beyond that, life goes on as usual.  Saturdays and Sunday are great family days, we try to sleep in, make coffee, and I’m on breakfast duty.

Saturday morning French Toast, Bacon, and Hot Coffee

Saturday morning French Toast, Bacon, and Hot Coffee

The kids get “screen time”:  Finding Nemo for Jane, Minecraft or reading books for Michael.  It’s the cold and rainy season, so a roaring fire and fuzzy PJ’s are mandatory.

Contented and Cozy

Content and Cozy

It’s great not having to rush off somewhere or have anything to do.  I make my way down to the hospital storage room to organize some donated equipment and get rid of a huge pile of useless junk.

The kids have friends within walking distance, RVA has high school rugby games to go watch, and dinner plans with great friends round out a perfect Saturday.  A peaceful start to the weekend.

Organizing the Store Room

Organizing the Store Room

Sunday is another story.  My phone jars me out of a sound sleep, the screen tells me it is the ortho resident calling.  I don’t really know what time it is, I just know it’s dark.

“28 year old guy on a piki (motorcycle), hit by a bus about 4 o’clock this morning.  Pelvic fracture, bad open floating knee.  Has had 4 units of blood, his BP is 100/50, and we’re on our way to theatre. His Hemoglobin level is 5 after the third unit of blood”  To translate, this man is bleeding to death, he has already lost at least two thirds of his blood volume.  Only healthy young people survive such blood loss, but they can die very quickly once their ability to compensate is overwhelmed.

Okay, I’m awake now.  I volley back some questions:  is the pelvic fracture stabilized with a binder, does he have two IV’s flowing wide open,  is more blood available, is he alert, can you feel a pulse in his leg, have antibiotics been started, has he gotten a tetanus shot, any chest or abdominal trauma, has his c-spine been cleared?

Yes, yes, yes, yes….The systems have worked, protocols have been followed, and this young man is going to have the best chance he can at survival and keeping his leg.  I’d like to repeat that sentence 10 more times, because it is amazing.  At this little hospital clinging to a muddy hillside in rural Kenya, this patient is receiving world class trauma care.  This is all down to the excellent work of the junior residents who met this man in the emergency department.  We don’t have a sophisticated lab to know his acid-base balance, we don’t have invasive monitoring to know his exact fluid resuscitation status, but within our abilities, every possible thing has been done, and is being done, to save this man’s life and limb.  In medical parlance, we move into “damage control” surgery.

The goal of damage control surgery is to stabilize the patient, quickly clean wounds, stop bleeding, and  get him into the expert hands of the intensive care unit doctors.  Damage control does not involve meticulous repair of wounds or fractures, just quickly trying to move him out of a life-threatening situation.

I gulp down a cup of instant coffee to clear my head and walk into the pink sky of the breaking dawn and down to the operating room.  The patient is just being wheeled into theatre, and I introduce myself and talk to him, in as reassuring tones as I can, about his injuries.  I’ve had more than one patient here with these same injuries never wake up from surgery, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.  “Your blood pressure has stabilized, things are looking good, we’re going to clean up your wounds and begin stabilizing your broken bones.”

With that, the nurse anesthetist gets him off to sleep while we stabilize his neck.  He hasn’t yet gotten an Xray of his neck, and has no pain there, but could easily have a broken neck and not know it.  The pelvic and limb fractures are painful enough to mask the pain of other injuries, so we always assume the spine is broken until proven otherwise.

The leg looks bad.  The thigh bone (femur) is broken and sticking out the front.  A large segment of the tibia bone is missing beneath the knee, and there is a clot of blood behind the knee.  Through my gloves, I can feel a pulse behind his knee, so we know the main artery to his leg is intact.  With a doppler probe, we can see that he has good blood supply to his foot.  So the leg is probably salvageable. But that clot behind the knee looks ominous.  We leave it alone, to be looked at more carefully a bit later.   Before he went to sleep, we had tested his ability to move and feel his toes, and this was normal.  Some reasons for optimism.  But the clot worries me.

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Floating Knee:  Open Fractures of the Femur and Tibia

Floating Knee: Open Fractures of the Femur and Tibia

We wash debris, paint chips, gravel, sand, and pieces of his trousers out of the wounds.  The fractured ends of the bones are tattooed blue from the paint on the bumper of the bus.  We meticulously clean everything, excising dead tissue, until the wounds look clean.  The residents and I install an external fixator, a stabilizing device which uses pins inserted into the bone to attach to a carbon graphite frame.  This can be applied in a matter of minutes, from his upper thigh to just above the ankle, to provide some stability to the leg.

The patient is getting cold.  Hypothermia, or below normal body temperature, is a common and ominous sign in severe trauma.  We get hot water bottles and blankets to cover every square inch of the patient that is not being operated on.  A cold patient can have severe metabolic disruption, including losing the ability to clot his blood.  This can be irreversible and fatal in a severely injured patient.  We turn the room temperature up to 86 degrees Fahrenheit.  While garbed in hats, masks, gowns, and lead vests, this becomes very uncomfortable, but is standard trauma protocol.

The wounds are clean, the fractures stabilized, and now it is time to go back and look at that clot.  I carefully place retractors to hold the surrounding tissues out of the way, and gently remove the clotted blood.  Before the case started, I had insisted that everyone in the room was wearing eye protection.  And this was why.  As I removed the clot, bright red blood began spraying out of the wound.  We had found the reason his hemoglobin blood levels were so low.  As the bumper of the bus hit his leg, one of the bone fragments had torn a hole in an artery in the back of his leg.  Gentle fingertip pressure stopped the bleeding, and we called for the talented general surgeon, Dr. Jack Baraza.

Jack was waiting in the wings, and quickly arrived to calmly explore the vascular injury.  There are three vessels which supply blood to the lower leg, and two were still intact.  So the repair was a simple matter of isolating and tying sutures around the offending blood vessel.  We rechecked the blood supply to the foot, and after a few tense moments, were rewarded with pink toes and a visible pulse on the doppler ultrasound screen.

Dr. Baraza checking the blood supply to the foot

Dr. Baraza checking the blood supply to the foot

Thick dressings are applied, a plaster splint reinforces the external fixator, some other wounds are quickly sutured, and the patient is ready for transport to the ICU.  He has a long and difficult struggle ahead of him.  The next 48 hours will show us how much reserve he has left.  As he stabilizes, we can begin to plan reconstructive surgeries to fix his pelvic and femur fractures, and restore the bone missing from his leg.

I walk back home to an empty house.  Ann and the kids are enjoying Mother’s Day by going on a hike at Crescent Island with some friends, so I have some breakfast and get ready for a nap.

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Mountain Bike Safari (Flunking Sainthood Day 9)

One of the great joys of living at Kijabe is living on the Rift Valley Escarpment, a 2,000 foot ridge which drops from the alpine forests above us to the semi-arid plains below.  There are no level surfaces here:  every road, driveway, and forest sits on a steep pitch.  Combined with the heavy foot traffic and herds of cows, sheep, and goats, the area is interlaced with world class ready-made mountain bike trails.  Over the years, different people living here have pieced together routes to nearby villages, as well as faraway towns and lakes, entirely on trails.  We decided to set out today on a mountain bike safari.

There are a handful of bikes and bikers here, and we have two skilled mountain bikers visiting, Thomas and Meghan Higgins.  They live at 6,000 feet in Salt Lake City, and love to mountain bike, so they are looking forward to the challenge.  Both Thomas and I are not on call this weekend, so we decided to put together an adventure.

We’re grateful for the loan of David Shirk’s mountain bike, as he is back in the US at the moment.  Four of us assembled at our house, got tires pumped up, found helmets that fit, and packed enough food and water to get to our destination, a small hostel called Longonot Lodge, about 20 miles away.  This lodge sits on a stunning plateau, surrounded by plains full of zebra, Thompson gazelle, hartebeest, and the occasional giraffe and buffalo, and ostrich.  The lodge was originally built by Ernest Hemingway for his wife, and is now run by a German/Kenyan couple as a guest house.  We had called the day before to book lunch at their outdoor restaurant.

We set out mid-morning, a brief climb followed by a high speed descent on a twisty, muddy road which descends through dense bush to “Old Kijabe Town”.  This is the real Kenyan village, Kijabe Hospital being a later addition about a hundred years ago.  As we reached the village, Michael suffered an early set back, a flat tire.  We spent a good bit of time getting this fixed, as we went through two spare inner tubes which had holes in them, a pump which didn’t work, and finally used the wrong-size tube for his tire.  Any port in a storm.

We continued the journey, climbing up above the village to bypass a deep ravine filled with stinging nettles.  A brief, twisting descent on cow trails brought us to a broad, rolling trail called “old railway bed.”  A non-imaginative name, as this trail represents the remnants of the colonial era Mombasa-Uganda railway, otherwise known as “the Lunatic Express.”  This railways features in movies such as “Out of Africa” and “The Ghost and the Darkness”, and is best known for the two male lions of Tsavo which ate many workers and nearly halted the railways construction.  As we ride, we are journeying over dark history, as the railway represents the worst of colonial ambitions.

We make our way down the fast paced, twisting trails.  Segments of mud, spectacular vistas over the Kenyan planes, deep ravines where we form a human chain to transit bikes and each other to the far side.  Thumping drum beats from local village churches , squealing groups of children, intimidating cacti lining the trail, dodging herds of cattle, goats, and sheep, and finally we arrive in the heat and humidity of the valley floor.

The trail is a major route for herders.

The trail is a major route for herders.

Meghan makes some friends

Meghan makes some friends

Next, we pass across the current railway, underneath a two lane highway, and set out alongside Mt Longonot, a dormant volcano that the Higgins family climbed several days ago.  With Mt Longonot on our left, we wrap around its flank on dirt roads, climb up a thin steep road through a lava flow, and then a blazing descent onto the plain nestled between the heights of Mt. Longonot to the south and the glistening expanse of hippo-laden Lake Naivasha to our north.

We come to a crude gate, manned by no less than three “guards” who are a bit startled by our arrival.  In a halting mix of swahili and English, we struggle to understand each other.  Ann has passed by here an hour earlier with both ours and the Higgins children in the car, so we are eventually ushered onto the property.  This gate marks the boundary of a massive land holding, Kedong Ranch, which itself is part of the bloody history of the Lunatic Express Railway.  We descend further onto the plain, and enter paradise.

We are many miles from the nearest building, the nearest paved road, or any other signs of civilization.  As we pedal across the plain, we are surrounded by herds of hartebeest, Thompson gazelle, and zebra.  The many giraffe and buffalo in this region are nowhere to be seen today, and the ostrich are hiding somewhere as well.  A short climb brings us to the top of the hill, where Ann and the children are already enjoying the peace of Longonot Lodge.

We sit down to a lovely lunch of locally caught tilapia (fish), buttery potatoes, and slivered carrots.  Not bad for the middle of nowhere!  The lodge uses solar water heating, and has a small wind farm for electricity.  Hot coffee washes down the delicious food, and helps energize us after the long and tiring ride.  The fatigue, gentle heat, lazy breeze, and overwhelming vista lull everyone into a state of relaxed contentment.

But the inevitable time for departure arrives, we load the bikes onto the car, and head back to Kijabe.

Bikes loaded up for the trip home.

Bikes loaded up for the trip home.

The trusty rig, ready to take us home.

The trusty rig, ready to take us home.

A quick check shows that the patients for tomorrow include the man who suffered a machete attack with multiple fractures who needs his wound covered with a “flap”, two women with broken legs, one with a broken ankle, and the lady with a broken wrist who was cancelled last week due to high blood pressure.

Weekends like this really allow us to dive into the week ahead with enthusiasm and energy, hopefully giving the best to our patients and staff.  Family time, laughs with friends, and enjoying the amazing creation surrounding us fill our souls and make us all thankful for the work we’ve been called to do.

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The Big Fig

Saturday, a break in the rain, blue skies with serrated clouds, brilliant sunshine.  Time for a hike!  The Big Fig is a famous tree near Kijabe, with huge roots winding through boulders, perched on the edge of a 200 foot drop into a small canyon.  The tree is about an hour’s hike through the bush from Kijabe.  We gather our friends the Heins and Higgins families, load back packs with snacks and water bottles, and head out.  Our first stop is at our friends the Davis’ house, where Rich bluetooths the path from his gps to mine.  Once you’re in the bush, it’s difficult to follow the correct twists and turns to the Big Fig, so now we have satellite navigation!  The Davis’ dog Radar decides to abandon his family and join us on the hike.

The hike down is a little muddy, but the footing is good.  Monkeys stalk us in the trees, giant centipedes wiggle across the trail, black ibis, hawks, and colorful song birds punctuate the walk.  An animal skin on the trail is animated with a lacy white fungus.  The gps takes us straight to the big fig, where we take a welcome break in its  cool shade.

The tree is remarkably large, and precariously set.  Roots more than a foot in diameter snake their way through 10 foot boulders, leaving the trunk hanging out over a precipitous drop.  We herd the kids, all kindergarten to fourth grade, away from the edge so the adults can relax.  Michael and his friend Noah impress each other by getting ever closer to the edge, pretending to slip.  Somehow we don’t find it as funny as they do.

The tree’s rocky home provides comfortable seating as we take our break.

Mara family, On the Edge!

Mara family, On the Edge!

The canyon opens up to farmers fields planted with maize and kale, and lazy cows drift from one field to the next in the valley below.  Red-garbed Masai herders dramatically decorate the lush green vegetation.  Rock hyrax duck in and out, resenting our invasion, and Jane finds an 8 inch lizard.

Heading back up, the heat kicks in, but we make good time and relax in the cool of the house.  Jane heads up to a friend’s house, I make grilled cheese sandwiches for Michael and Noah, and Ann takes Bosco out for a walk.  He’s getting a bit old, and we don’t take him on big steep hikes anymore, but he hates to be left behind.

Tonight, we’re looking forward to having the Higgins family over for dinner.  Meghan is cooking, which is a sure sign of Ann’s friendship with her.  Normally, it takes years before an Irish “mammy” will allow another woman to lift a finger in her kitchen, so they must be tight.  Either that, or Ann is just really sick of cooking dinner every night.

I had the pleasure of running into my good friend, Dan Galat, today.  Dan is my doppelganger at Tenwek hospital, about three hours west of here in Bomet, Kenya.  Dan is an orthopaedic surgeon from the US, who came to Kenya straight out of his residency at the Mayo clinic.  We are twin brothers, both sharing a passion for providing orthopaedic care and teaching Kenyan surgeons.  Dan recently started an orthopaedic surgery residency at Tenwek, and we are finding ways to collaborate for better care and training.

It’s nothing short of miraculous that I can sit here in a muddy little village in Kenya, and be working alongside talented Kenyan surgeons such as Dr.’s Muchiri and Wamae, as well as surgeons from the US.  If defies logic, but you have to get used to that once you quit living on your own power and trust that God will provide what you need, and when you need it.  You might not know what tomorrow will bring, but you can have confidence that God has it covered.  And He never fails!

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Day 6: Dawn to Dusk

Today was a hard, but great day.  I like working, though at 51 years old, the energy doesn’t hold up quite as late into the day.  The day started with a 7:30 meeting called by our gifted medical director, Dr. Mardi Steere.  The medical director is an important job here, as the liaison between the medical staff and the Kenyan leadership and hospital board.  The medical staff itself is remarkable, with about 30 doctors, half Kenyan, half expat, all dedicated to providing health care to the most vulnerable.  This morning’s meeting dealt with the big picture, strategic planning, and was really encouraging.

Following the meeting, straight to surgery.  We are extremely fortunate to to have Dr. Thomas Higgins working with us.  Thomas came out with his wife Meghan, and two children Owen and Corine.  Amazingly, they have taken a leave from their comfy life in Salt Lake City to work with us here in Kijabe.  They have settled in like pros, the kids jumping right into kindergarten and second grade at RVA, Thomas being the work horse at the hospital, and Meghan going for runs in the hills around Kijabe and shopping “madukani” (at the shops) like she’s lived here for years.

Thomas took the first case in Room 8, pinning a badly fractured elbow in a 7 year old child.  Meanwhile down the hall in Room 6, I cleaned out a man’s broken leg which had suffered a bad infection.  He’s almost ready for a SIGN nail and bone grafting, maybe in a month or so.

As I was finishing the first case, a friend from Bend showed up in the operating room.  David Utley, a professional photographer, and his wife Cindy used to live in Bend, but now work for Samaritan’s purse, based in North Carolina.  David was passing through Kijabe on his way back from a photo shoot of Samaritan’s Purse’s work in the Congo.  He snapped a few photos in the operating room, and then I walked him  to a friend’s house in the pounding rain.

Following this, Shelminth, a talented general surgery resident in her second year, removed some pins from a child who had previously had his elbow pinned.  Later in Room 6, we had to amputate the leg of the poor man with the overwhelming infection.  Amputation is heart breaking for everyone, and is a last resort when all hope is lost for the limb, or when continued efforts to save the limb would gravely endanger the patients life.  Sadly, Kamau fit both these criteria.  Though tragic, he can now get on with healing, his chances of survival are much higher, and he will eventually walk with a prosthesis.

Meanwhile in Room 8, we are preparing for a big case, fixation of an acetabular (hip socket) fracture.  Dr. Higgins is a trauma specialist from a large trauma center, and acetabular fracture is one of the signature surgeries for a trauma surgeon.  I took the opportunity to scrub in with Dr. Higgins to learn from the master.  I have done these fractures here, but he makes it look easy and taught me a number of “pearls”.  The surgery went extremely well, and both the resident, Dr. Kingori, and I learned a lot.

Back in Room 6, a big upper extremity case.  This poor woman had been shot through the arm during a church bombing a couple of years ago.  Remarkably, she has essentially the same condition as the young lady, Caroline, we saw yesterday.  The problem is that the gunshot wound had removed most of the ulna (forearm bone), one of the bones was dislocated from her elbow,  and her hand and wrist were no longer linked to her arm.  The injury had been about two years previously, the arm was badly scarred, and the surgery proceeded slowly.  In the end, however, she had a nice stable arm, so much so that we didn’t even need to put her in a cast.  She’ll be painful for several weeks, but can start using her arm immediately.

Meanwhile back in Room 8, Dr. Higgins repairs a badly broken wrist.

The day went much longer than expected, and as I walked up our driveway in the dark at 7:30 pm, it seemed much steeper than usual.  We had had 17 people over for dinner from our team, and they were just leaving as I walked in.  Ann had graciously hosted them and had a beautiful dinner of salad grown in our own shamba (garden), and creamy tomato chorizo pasta with fresh home-grown basil and toasted pine nuts.  Amazing!  I warmed mine up in the microwave, and plopped down in front of the fire with Michael and Jane.

Tomorrow is a national holiday, and I’m not on call, so I plan on sleeping in, going for a bike ride, and preparing for a talk I’m giving tomorrow night.  Thanks for walking with us here in Kijabe.

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Day 4….Some days are better than others

As I sat down to write this, my phone rang.  It was the excellent resident I’m currently working with, calling with bad news.  He had brought our patient from Sunday, the one with the terrible leg infection, back to theatre to wash out the infection again.  Instead of finding the leg improving, he found toes turning black, and the muscles dying.  We got to Kamau too late.  The infection had gone too far.  This young man is going to need an amputation.

I can feel the resentment build:  why did this have to happen?  It wasn’t a complex problem: with some basic surgical care from the outset, he could be planning his recovery, this episode soon relegated to a painful memory and tales to tell his children and grandchildren.  Instead, he will be an amputee, in a country which doesn’t look kindly on disability.  Here we have no “Kenyans with Disabilities Act” to put in sidewalk ramps, require accessible public transport, or prevent employment discrimination.  Disability is sometimes viewed as a curse, creating fear, suspicion.  He will have some difficulty finding and affording a good prosthesis.  This is a huge setback for his life.

If this were an isolated instance, it would be simply frustrating.  But it is a regular occurrence, even here in Kenya, one of the more developed countries in sub-Saharan Africa.  I’ve been to countries where things are much worse, where there is simply no hope for patients with significant injuries.  The suffering across this continent is unimaginable.

There’s a lot of people working on this problem.  My Notre Dame classmate and roommate from medical school, John Meara, has risen to the highest echelons of the academic world, and is spearheading the Lancet Commission.  The Lancet, one of the oldest and most prestigious medical journals in the world, has decided to undertake a major project, looking at the effect of this severe lack of surgical capacity in the developing world.  The governing body of the World Health Organization meets in May and will pass a resolution declaring basic surgical care a right, much like access to clean water, food, security, and vaccines.  This is a watershed moment for the billions of people suffering worldwide from lack of access to adequate surgical care.

In our lifetimes, this problem will be reversed, and severe lack of surgical capacity will go the way of smallpox and polio.  But that doesn’t help Kamau today.

Our first patient for the day, a young man in a car wreck, was due to have his hip socket reconstructed after a fracture-dislocation of his hip.  Unfortunately, due to a scheduling error, we had to re-schedule his surgery for Thursday.

Our next patient was due for wrist reconstruction after a mangling injury a year ago when his van rolled over as his arm was out the window.  As we were preparing him for surgery, I pressed gently on a little opening in his arm.   To my surprise, a 3/4 inch seed pod popped out, followed by pus.  Apparently, despite multiple surgeries at two excellent hospitals in Tanzania and Nairobi, this remnant from his roadside injury had hidden inside his arm for a year.  It decided to work its way out on the day this patient was finally scheduled for his reconstructive surgery.  We cleaned out the infection and took him to the ward for intravenous antibiotics.

The third patient today was a middle aged lady who had fallen down some stairs, shattering her wrist.  She was scheduled for a combination of plating and external fixation today.  Though she has a history of hypertension (high blood pressure), she has been well controlled by medications.  Until she got onto the operating table.  Her blood pressure shot up to a dangerous 200/100, and persisted despite intravenous anxiety and blood pressure medications.  Surgery cancelled.

Next up, a two year old boy who fell down some stairs, hyper-extending his elbow to the point where the elbow broke just above the joint.  Jane had this same injury just last November.  The treatment is a surgery where the bones are manipulated back into position, and then held there with two pins introduced through the skin into the bone using video xray.  This went flawlessly, all the equipment worked perfectly, and he should be fine.  Finally, we accomplished something for the day.

Our last patient was the disastrous Kamau, wrapping up an all-too-typical day in the battle against trauma in Africa.  When he wakes up, we’ll need to give him the bad news and obtain consent for amputation.

In the big picture, I know progress is being made, systems are being formed, surgeons are being trained, the John Meara’s of the world are pushing global organizations to wake up to this unseen epidemic.  But day to day, my picture isn’t that big.  My picture is the men, women, and children in my clinics and theatres who suffer agony and disability from lack of safe roads, safe drivers, and access to safe surgical care.  Though we’re too late for Kamau, my prayer is that his children will live in a world with less suffering.

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