Monthly Archives: May 2007

In the heart of the Cape Flats,, located conveniently near Gugulethu and Mitchel’s Plain lies GF Jooste Hospital, a second level hospital that services the 2 000 000 people that live in this densly populated, incredibly low SES area. From the outside it’s a sprawling single story building with lots of security bars and barbed wire, but nothing special, but inside is a maggot infected wound.

According to the senior medical consultant and professor of medicine 14000 people walk into its door, only 9000 of them are permitted to see a doctor and only 3000 of them get admitted.

This compared to the relative luxury of Victory and Summerset hospitals, which serve 1 500 000 people, of which a larger proportion of patients use private sector hospitals. Victoria and Summerset have significantly fewer patients presenting to casualty of which a higher proportion are likely to be admitted for a longer period of time when compared to GF Jooste.

The casualty ward of Jooste is a room of human suffering. After people are triaged they go through to the casualty room and might be seen by a casualty officer. There is a 4 bedded cubical with separating curtains for resuscitating patients and then a much larger area where the bed-bound patients wait to see whether they are sick enough to be admitted. 6 beds line the one wall and 4 beds and 10 chairs line the other. In the middle of the room are medical supplies, desks and chairs for the doctors to work at. The room seems unreasonably spacious compared with the rest of the hospital.

Adjoining the casualty room is the holding area where patients sit or, if at deaths door, lie and await a bed. Those who were either too well to qualify for admission or too sick to survive long enough to be admitted have been turned away. Here patient in pain, feeling sick, some actually verging on dead can wait for up to 72 hours before a bed becomes available to them. Most of them have been awake for days and are significantly ill. En suite to this room is a room with blacked out windows where the screams and noise of psychotic patients add to the ambiance.

There are 2 medical wards at Jooste, each with about 45 beds. Approaching the wards the stench of faeces, urine, vomitus, sweat and / or sputum is overwhelming. In order to qualify for one of these rare beds a patient needs to be incredibly ill. People die all around, flies and fly paper and hangs from the ceiling and infectious diseases, such as multi- and extremely-drug resistant TB, permeate the air. The lack of important medical supplies such as soap and dismed is very noticeable.

Patient care and available resources are the primary problems affecting Jooste. Patient care issues primarily stem directly from lack of resources. The lack of resources stems directly from the government. The issue is categorically not an issue of resource distribution, but rather of resource allocation.

Victoria and Summerset hospitals are second level hospitals with which comparibility is possible. Groote Schuur is third level hospital which is also severly, horrificically understaffed and under-resourced. It makes no sense redistributing resources from Groote Schuur to a second level hospital because there will still be the same number of complicated cases that will need to be transferred from the second level hospital to the third level hospital. If resources are redistributed as above and more patients are seen at second level hospital, more patients will need to be transferred to third level hospitals, which would have fewer resources and more patients.

Redistributing resources from Victoria and Summerset hospitals to Jooste also does not make sense to me. Victoria and Summerset hospitals are functioning well and managing their patient loads adequately. If resources are redistributed from them it would result in failure of these hospitals to function properly in exchange for Jooste possibly function better. This makes no sense because one problem is being replaced by another problem. It is extremely illogical to break something that is working properly in order to fix something else. All the hospitals need to be working.

Furthermore the creation of additional primary level hospitals will hopefully increase access to health care for many people. This will result in more referrals to second and third level hospitals which will further buckle under the strain. It makes very little sense for the government to redistribute funds from higher level hospitals, which are already functioning at a sub-optimal level, to lower level hospital because this will put additional strain in terms of workload on the higher level hospitals at a lower resource level.

The resource problem at Jooste is so sever that the senior consultant was forced to choose between buying toilet paper or ceftriaxone – a life-saving antibiotic. The size of Jooste, in terms of bed, staff, equipment, medicines and facilities is in no way sufficient to serve its population. Human beings are suffering tremendously because of this foresight.

In one of the largest growing populations in South Africa, where millions of people that were disadvantaged by the Apartheid system, a hospital is desperately struggling to meet the needs of its population but its success is seriously limited because of a lack of resources from the government. The solution is simple in concept, but obviously less so in implementation. Jooste needs more money from an increase in health budget allocation, not from redistribution from other core health facilities.

In light of the fact that it would be a serious foresight to actively try to decrease the funding and quality of one service, especially one only just functioning, in order for it to be at an equal to another inferior service In keeping with the South African health rights charter and the principles of Batho Pele the local, provincial and national governments should assess the situation and Jooste and act rationally and local to make sure that they are maintaining their responsibility to the people of South Africa.

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Last week I felt progressively more and more unhappy and empty as the hours and days past. On Thursday night I had gone to bed at 9pm. I was lying there eagerly awaiting the darkness to envelope me and bring an end to the daily suffering when my phone rang. It was a girl I love dearly and I was happy to answer it.
“Ding?” She sounded like she had being crying, or at the very least was upset
“What’s wrong?!?”
“I’ve got some terrible news.” The warning shot. “…’s dad killed himself this afternoon…”

Daughter is a dear friend of mine. A beautiful free spirit, graceful and free. The thought of her father, a well adjusted, easy going and happy man blowing his brains out and the repercussions that his selfish act would have on his daughter and family have been echoing through my head and have resonated with the suffering and misery that I see every day.

I have had a difficult life and have often thought of suicide. I even tried to kill myself once or twice. I have learned and grown a lot since then. I have often thought about suicide in very practical terms.

The pain and the act of dying do not give me pause, neither does the concept of retribution of punishment in a life to come. My reconciled view of the afterlife is that either what you believe in is what is made manifest, or at least something logical and order comes into play, at which point I would be able to defend my actions adequately.

What I believe is that when you die you are dead. I hope that when I die not a hint of energy, thought, consciousness, memory, self-awareness, or even awareness continues to exist of me. If I could I would scatter every particle that was me across the farthest reaches of space and time so that they could and would never manifest into me again.

The thing which does give me pause and which should have given the father pause in this situation is responsibility. I do not wish to be responsible for causing pain, anguish and suffering for my family and to a lesser extent my friend, should I decide my time is come.

If I were to kill myself I would find a way to make sure that my body were never found. I would go on a holiday or do something where it would take people a long time to notice I was missing. Then they would look a bit and not find anything and assume that I am either dead or doing something else. After a while they will feel ok about and if they did stumble upon my body it would be less traumatic.

This is one of the reasons why I do not want to have children. Having children forces you to not allow yourself this way out. Being married does the same, but to a slightly lower degree.

At the moment I am managing and do not intend to commit suicide. I am hoping my time comes naturally before I feel bad enough and hopeless enough to do it.

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Today started off at 6am. My clock-radio switched on at 6am and informed me that it was going to be freezing cold. It then started to pour like a motherfucker outside. On the brighter side of the pitch black 6h05 rainstorm a friend smsed me to tease me about how early it was.

I had a pounding headache and the first time I moved I realised that I must have missed a dose of my Cymbalta (dualoxetine) because I was having the characteristic shooting shocking feeling on movement that I get when I miss my meds. It usually starts on the same day that I miss my meds, but I’d been sleeping a lot so I did not notice, I suppose.

As the day progressed I came to realise that I had missed two days of it and my noradrenaline levels must be very low. I felt shit.

Fulminant liver failure lady is still hanging on. 2 of her enzymes, which when increased are a sign of liver damage, where 500 times higher than normal. She has kausmal breathing, the characteristic air hunger which is associated with acidosis. She also had a blood glucose of 3.2 on 10% dextrose. She is much more comatosed today than yesterday.

Where’s my sole

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In the past few days I have born witness to an unreasonable and inhuman amount of suffering for which I cannot find meaning.

In the hospital every day people are unreasonably sick and dying. There is a woman there with at least 5 different life threaten condition, one of which will kill her in the next couple of days. She is swollen everywhere, she has pericarditis, chronic obstructive airways disease, a urinary tract infection, pneumonia, etc, etc. I do not understand why she needs to spend her last days conscious, suffering, having needles poked into her, in a smelly hospital ward.

A man presented with diarrhoea and I needed to do a rectal examination on him. He screamed and writhed in pain while I tried to feel inside his rectum for god knows what. It was the most dehumanising torturous things I have ever done. I feel freaked out and unhappy about doing it, but medicine is not about quick fixes or only joy and health

Today one of the saddest things happened. A patient that we had seen a week ago with AIDS/TB came back. She had been discharged in decent health and well on the way to living a long meaningful life. She is 18 years old.

Today she presented with fulminant liver failure, crazy off her head, jaundice yellow, screaming in agony and probably on her way to the afterlife. We had to stick a IV up in her neck, restrain her and sedate her so she wouldn’t pull her drip out. Her blood glucose was 0.9 and she had stage III encephalopathy, both of which, along with the fact that her liver failure was induced by the TB drug isoniazide, are very poor prognostic indicators. I spent a few hours watching her and trying to encourage her to lie with her head to the left so that her 10% dextrose drip ran. This was very difficult because she was complete non compos mentis.

In my social life I feel loney and isolated. In my day to day social life I am exposed to things that are beyond the realm of normal human experience, which I am unable to relate to my peers and friends, at all.

The non communication between my old friend and I, the one with the long shul fight story, continues despite my best efforts. It hurts me terribly. I will not apologise and pathetically chase after her, but I miss her and I feel intensely hurt and unhappy.

I am lonely at university. I am not happy waking up at 6am to go watch people die; to watch the truth of the human condition in all its indignity, suffering, pain and eventual silence.

And as so far as my quest to find and bring meaning to my actions and life go I am left with the burning after-shadow of what I have born witness to recently, coupled with other life-long personal experiences of suffering and no answer.

“Where do we go from here? All the words are coming out all weird. Where are you now? When I need you!”

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Part of the general medical screening questions asked to a patient is “When is the last time you felt well?” I do not know when the last time I would consider myself to be feeling well. I often feel that I am coping, I even sometimes feel excited about something, but a deep-seated sense of well-being in the holistic physical, mental, social and spiritual sense I do not recall ever feeling.

I do not think that I have felt alive in about 2 years, maybe a bit more. I certainly do not feel dead, but just not alive. I am sometimes depressed, sometimes happy, sometimes excited, sometimes many things, but they all seem transient and meaningless. Aliveness has at least 2 definitions, at least as far as I can see; Alive in the sense that my heart beats and my brain works, and alive in the sense of living life, not just existing.

In order to live life actions performed need to have meaning and direction, making them a vector (haha). The medicine I take in order to be kept physically alive has removed all anxiety from me and makes me feel a lot happier. At the same time, I feel numb without the anxiety. Back when I started taking the medication I was not in a good space at all. I have come a long way since then and I feel happy about continuing to take it.

I feel stuck and held firmly in almost every action I perform. I have been stuck in more circumstances and have subsequently escaped from a lot of them. I wanted to study medicine for about 4 years before I actually started. Once I got going there was no reasonable way to get out. I think that maybe I should have studied engineering. There is a lot of pressure from a lot of different place pushing me to complete my degree. I can see myself being a doctor and cannot see myself doing anything else

Beyond my studying, my social life and my extra-curricular activities have dwindled over the past year. I feel no desire to do anything. It all seems very empty and meaningless. At the same time I am desperately searching for somebody or something to bring meaning to the terrible suffering I have endured and infinite emptiness that I see whenever my eyes are open.

When I was younger, 4 and more years ago, I used to believe that people were inherently good. I believed in my Habonim Dror, my youth movement, that gave me some of the happiest and most exciting experiences in my life. I believed in the friends I had made that I supported and loved because they supported and loved me. I believed that through continuous work on myself I would be able to be “better.”

Since then every different category of person has betrayed me so that I do not believe in any goodness in humanity in general. My perceptions of my youth movement have changed radically. Through the looking glass I see chaos and decay. I have seen my friends working, pushing and pulling me for their own good. I saw that the work I was doing on myself wasn’t the solution, but was a different problem. I was left empty.

What does it mean to be alive? Being alive is to be in the act of performing meaningful tasks towards a goal. I do not find meaning in my actions and my goals have been shattered. It is difficult to shapes goals and meaning around action.

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I have a very interesting patient that presented yesterday while on intake. We were waiting around in the over-night ward for our registrar who is often very late and doesn’t answer pages. A senior Dr, possibly a consultant, said that I could clark Mr Unknown and that there was a lot to learn from him.

He is a man in his 30s or 40s who was picked up on the side of the road by the South Africa Police Services because he was having generalised tonic-colonic seizures. He was brought in and left at the hospital. He has had 4 generalised tonic-colonic seizures and 2 right sided colonic seizures. He has a sever wheeze and his oxygen saturation is 88% in room air. On chest X-ray he has a right lower lobe pneumonia. On CT-head he has generalised brain atrophy

This morning when I saw him he was sitting on his bed butt-naked. I greated him and he ask me to discharge him, which is what he asks whenever I look at him, or anybody else looks at him. He then proceeded to get up and start walking around the ward completely naked. It was beautiful, so innocent. It was also sad and very funny for the same reason.

It was very frustrating to talk to him. All he’d ask was to be discharged home. In response to questions regarding where he lived, how old he was, or anything really he’d respond with either gibberish, something about the street and the steps, manetjies, or repeat what was said to him.

He took his IV line out so we needed to sedate him.

I feel very sad about him. He is a sweet man    cooperative, attentive and friendly. He is also completely fucked and has no idea what’s going on. Its very disempowering to work with him.

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There has been a patient in Sandes Medical Male ward since I started working at Victoria Hospital. He was a caricature of a staving man, wasted, profoundly, with deep sunken eyes. His lips and the inside of his mouth is stained orange from Rifampicin, one of the anti-tuberculosis drugs. Often he would just lie there, staring into space. He would rarely move and I have not seen him out of bed. When he sleeps his eyes are not fully closed and I wonder whether he had died.

During the time since I first encountered him I’d been feeling really angry about how the Pollsmoor prison let him deteriorate to such a sever extent. I mean, surely they must have noticed him wasting a way, his neurological status dropping with his physical strength to the extent where he was unable to partake in the activities of daily living.

Today I found out something about this man that completely blew my mind. He is in jail as a convicted member of the 28s gang, a gang notorious for gang-raping other men, murder and a great deal of pain and unhappiness. Were he just a member that would not have interested me, let alone impressed me, he was a general, leading men to give up their lives and humanity in order to gain a sense of entry into manhood.

I do not feel it my place to past judgement on him. I can never understand the circumstances that lead him to where he is today. I cannot condemn the man because I do not believe it is one human’s place to condemn another. It’s a truly profound thing to witness a man who must have been a terror, a despoiler of the innocent, defiler of his fellow man, to be so completely and thoroughly broken. If I put an AK-47 automatic assault rifle in his hands and injected him with adrenaline he would not even be able to aim the gun, let alone escape.

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I am sitting on my chair in front of my
computer. It’s 10 to 6 on a Monday afternoon. The light coming in through the
open window is dulled by clouds and the hour and make it feel somewhere that
could be morning or evening. It’s quite. There are no birds, no dogs, no
people, just the sound of typing.

The inside of my head feels like a visual
after shadow of seeing searing white light. Duller than before, but burning
bright yet soft. When I got home from Victoria Hospital
I felt tired. Not tired in the sense of not having enough sleep, but profoundly
tired, like the weight of meaninglessness is too heavy. Neither happy nor sad
nor angry, and certainly not alive. I feel like what I would imagine I would
feel like if I had tried everything to diffuse a bomb, but failed and it was a
moment away from exploding. Embracing the emptiness of oblivion, goalless,
relieved in the end of the struggle, not upset at the failure to win.

Each time that I go to Victoria Hospital
to work the people seem sicker. Today the people were very sick indeed. We had
7 stroke patients, a lot of terminally ill people. There was a bad smell coming
from one of the isolation wards, so I went to have a look and there was a woman
doing cardio-pulmonary resuscitation on a man covered form groin to knee in
thick viscous faeces. I asked if I should call a doctor, but the woman was one.
She asked me to fetch a 2-3er. I didn’t know what that was, so I fetch our
registrar. The man was terminal anyway, so they stopped CPR. I do not think
there was any way they could have resuscitated him anyway. On the bright side
his suffering is over, on the down side… well I don’t think there’s a down
side. He’s out of it, finally and without any guilt, pain or suffering.

The past few days have no been good at all,
AT ALL. Intake was really slow. I clarked 2 patient, and waited around most of
the day to present them to the old registrar who left on Friday. 1 had
dysentery and the other had a left lower limb DVT, profound anaemia of chronic
disease, and some malignancy which was affecting his lungs and liver. He is a
gentle elderly man who’s been unwell since the year I was born. Why does he
need to continue to suffer? Towards the end of the shift I failed to take blood
from him, and then pricked myself with the dirty needle. It turned out he was
HIV negative, but that was obvious.

I went to my usual family for supper, then
to the Habonim meeting. My immature old x who always treats me like shit was so
happy to see me and pleasant. It made me feel really sad. I left early and went
home.

I slept late on Saturday. This block is
exhausting, from an emotional and physical point of view. I did some university
work, not very much, and played a lot of neverwinter nights 2, which was cathartic.
I met up with a good friend for supper. We had a long and interesting
conversation. He has a very interesting philosophy on imagination. He believes
that imagination is the key motivational factor behind human actions. It is
necessary for humans to imagine what they want before they are sure they want
it.

I then went to the bayit and hung out
their, mainly to check up on somebody who I was hitting on. They’re not
interested – obviously.

I met an old friend from school days that I
haven’t seen in 7 years for lunch on Sunday. We spoke about computers for about
3 hours. It was decent.

I then went to the house of a girl that I
love. She is going through a phase in her life where she is destroying a lot of
her friendships, drinking, drugging, scoring lots of random guys, and doing
other un-good things. I made her a large square digital photo with pictures of
her and some things she should remember about our friendship. I told her how I
was upset with her; wasn’t prepared to apologise for no doing anything, wasn’t
prepared to run after her and that I was worried about her. I also gave her a
chocolate. She did not respond to the gesture, but then I suppose I wasn’t
really expecting her to.

Something that did make me laugh, my friend
posted a message for me on Facebook reading “Um Adam, the stick turned blue… we
need to talk”

I feel numb and dead. I feel a sense of de-realisation
of the world. I feel fatalism flow through me.

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Yesterday I started general medicine. I
thoroughly enjoyed my limited exposure to medicine last year, so I was feeling
quite excited about it. The two downsides to it are the fact that I have to
wake up at 6am, in order to get to my hospital by 8h00, and one of the people I
am working with is an awful wench.

I woke up feeling perky and excited for the
new block. After the last block I doubted that I would be too disappointed. I
had an overwhelming, and also subsequently incorrect, perception of the amount
of work that was needed to be done during the block. I felt concerned about the
wench I needed to have around me for the next 12 weeks or so.

When I left the house it was still too dark
to see the keyhole to unlock the door. The traffic was better than later, which
is logical, but was nice.

After parking at UCT and catching a health
science shuttle to Victoria
Hospital, in Wynburg, I
went with the 2 Botswanans I am working with through to the resource centre
where all the other 4th years, as well as the 6th years,
interns and registrars were. Everybody’s first day at Victoria, which was cool! The main
consultant spoke for a while about irrelevant stuff, then we divided up between
registrars. Our registrar, who has an Indian name that I struggle to remember,
is currently on leave, so it was just the 2 Botswanans, 2 6th years
and our intern. One of the 6th years is SO beautiful wow.

We were allocated patients to see. I saw a
woman with TB and AIDS. She has a drug allergy to rifampicin and bactram. She
was not feeling very well at all. She complained of a pluritic chest pain and
was fatigued. On examination, she had cachexia,?anaemia, a pigmented macular
rash on her whole body, she had dullness and decreased air entry on her right
side.

I then presented her to our intern, then to
a temporary registrar, then to a consultant in a ward round. Each presentation
was progressively worse then the previous one, but all alright.

I also saw a woman with ischemic heart
disease, Non-insulin dependant diabetes mellitus, with Congestive Cardiac
Failure secondary to myocardial infarctions secondary to the ischaemic heart
disease, and chronic renal failure with secondary normocytic normoblastic
anaemia secondary to the non-insulin dependant diabetes mellitus. She was very
difficult to examine because she was non-cooperative, couldn’t speak English,
was wheezy and was on oxygen. I tried to listen to her chest, but her gown was
soaked in saliva or condensation from the oxygen mask. We discharged her later
during the day. She had an acute exasperation of everything caused by a lower
respiratory tract infection and was probably pre-terminal for the next month.

After our tutorial and hanging out a bit
with our team, my group and I boarded the shuttle and returned to UCT at about
16h30. I wouldn’t travel home in the traffic, so I went to the bayit. I hung
out with some close friends and a girl I really like. We smoked nag, which gave
me a headache which developed into a migraine by the time I got to bed.

I made a website for the girl I like,
because I thought she’d appreciate it. It was made with the last bit of energy
I had before I passed out / vomited. She likes computers and sometimes sings to
them. I thought she’d like the website. I don’t think she likes me back, but I
thought I might as well give it another little nudge. What do I have to loose?
My dignity? My self respect? My life? NAaaaa

Today I overslept, because I had had a bad
night. I woke up after the migraine had left me and I struggled to fall back to
sleep. I arrived late to collect the Botswanans from their place, but I arrived
at Victoria
before the shuttle would have. I saw my patient with the respiratory problems.
The other one had been discharged home. I then helped out with 3 lumbar punctures
and tried to perform 1. I also took blood from one patient and did a
neurological examination on another.

My patient was confirmed not to have MDR TB
and was discharged. She also had a bout, or is having a bout of Pneumocysitis
carinii pneumonia. She was happy to go home and I enjoyed our relationship.

I left Victoria hospital at 3ish and went via
Groote Schuur to by a new medical bag and tourniquet. I sat in traffic on the
way home. I am feeling tired, very tired. I need to call the medical aid at
some point in the near future to find out why they have started charging me a
levy where before they did not.

Tomorrow we are one intake, which means we
get to hang out in casualty all day. Today was hectic there, apparently there
were 15-20 patients waiting for admission beds and that the medical wards were
discharging ill patients in order to give iller patients beds. I’m so pumped
for intake.

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If I could have any wish in the world
granted to me it would be to have my memory erased. I would want to still keep
my understanding of languages and skills, such as driving, but I would not like
to remember a single thing.

Memory is the true obstacle to freedom. It is
the memory of suffering and the potential for more suffering to come from
previous experiences.

I remember things very clearly and would
love to just not know some things. For instance, it would be great not to know
that I struggle to fall asleep without the pink pill, or that people keep
hurting me, or that the people I have to work with in the block to come keep
treating me like shit.

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