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A common habit for me is to check in at the dispensary on my way to the shamba (farm). I've been able to help with so many things that I really enjoy it when I can pitch in and help. Today I went there to see if one of the nurses could change the dressing on my head wounds, which they did. But when I entered the room to be treated I saw a 3 year old boy named Chirongo lying on the table. Joy said that his blood tests were being done to determine if he had malaria so they could begin his treatments. We've had such a breakout here of this lethal disease that it's quite scary, but with all the rains they received last month and all the small pools of water lying stagnant, there's no wonder.
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| Chirongo in the dispensary |
Chirongo was unconscious with a high fever of 103. He was dropped off by his mother, and while he lay there motionless, she had to return back to her hut to take care of other children. Her husband died last year, and this is her baby, but there are two others who also needed caring for, and she had no option. Naomi told her to come back in four hours.
I ran the palm of my hand up his small back, feeling his burning skin. His head appeared even hotter. I dampened a rag and gently moistened his skin. We positioned him under a window where a gentle breeze could help cool him. I could not help but try and see my own grandsons of similar age in that same position. No matter how hard I tried to paint this mental picture, I could not fathom them being alone in a dispensary, suffering from a deadly and painful sickness, wondering if the effective treatment would be available today.
The nurses were busy with the dozens of other patients that lined up outside the small doors of this place, and I simply could not leave this beautiful young boy. I continued cooling him with water and making him as comfortable as I could. Except for the faint movements of taking a breath, he was lifeless. The test came back positive, so treatment for malaria began immediately. The dose they needed to give Chirongo was so big that they actually gave him two injections, one in each hip. As Joy inserted the long needle into his flesh, the boy didn't stir at all. His flesh had cooled significantly and his temperature had come down below 100. The second injection was prepared, and I turned him to give Joy access to the other hip. Again, no movement of any kind. I asked Joy if she thought he would be okay. She has seen hundreds and hundreds of these cases, so I trusted her assessment. She basically said that we would know in an hour.
They changed my dressings and it felt great to allow some air to get to my scalp. I haven't seen what the wounds look like except in a photo, but they told me that they are looking good, so I'll take them at their word. I wanted to get back to Chirongo. Within the hour, almost exactly as Joy had predicted, Chirongo began stirring. He was sick, but he was coming out of his stupor. After some time he finally looked up at the person stroking his back and head. He didn't have the energy to truly cry, but he was confused and a white man was not what he expected to see, so he began to whimper. Joy was close by, so she came and said something to him in his mother tongue. I remained close by, continuing to keep his body cool. Although he was scared at the thought of a strange, white man nearby, hopefully it was the small amount of comfort I was providing that kept him from reacting further.
As Chirongo's strength returned, so did his loving mother. They were both glad to see each other, and as quickly as she entered into the room, the two of them were gone, walking the dusty path towards a neighboring village. Chirongo watched me from his mothers shoulder as they walked away. I waved. He closed his eyes and buried his head in the neck of his mother. She needed to get back home and fetch water before dusk.
BVL
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