Batting 1000

Our story begins, Friends, at four fifty-five on Sunday, November 16, 2008. Tucked away snuggly under a duvet in my obnoxious unmatching pj shorts and white tank top I am sleeping soundly until a series of unfamiliar and piercing squeaking sounds drags my from my dreams and into reality. I try to ignore the sound, believing that is a demented bird on my tin roof or just another roof rat. However, the squeaking is becoming more shrill and I realize that if I am to enjoy this glorious day of sleeping in until the late hour of half past seven, I am going to have to take care of this monster. Reluctantly, I put my bare feet (I have recently learned to sleep without socks…go me!), on the concrete floor and chills run up my legs as I feel the coldness of the floor on my way to the light switch. I flick the lights on and my eyes fight to adjust. The shrills are now becoming more frequent and I realize that whatever is making that sound is not on the roof, but in my room because the noise is coming from the same place where the roof rat first came from. I begin to search for my flashlight under my bed, on my bed, around my bed, and in any other direction where the flashlight could have possibly gone. Unable to locate the flashlight, I sit on the bed and remove the covers when my eyes are bombarded by…get ready for this….a BAT!!! The bat is now widly flying around the room as I trembled beneath the pillow I am holding over my head and screaming loud enough to wake up all five of the neighbor’s dogs. Though bats are nearly blind, they are far from deaf, so the bat had a massive fright and flew right back into the hole in the wall where it came from in the first place. Now thoroughly alarmed and very awake, I open the door and the windows hoping that my nocturnal friend will leave. No such luck. Now there is only two options I see here. Either the bat leaves or I do; so I grab my towel and toiletries, and I head out the door. Time to shower and start the day at FIVE IN THE MORNING!!!! To make a long story short, the bat left the same day without my knowledge of exactly when or how.

Today is November 25, 2008, nine days since the bat incident and so much has happened in these past 216 hours. I have finished all of my project wrap-ups at school and I have secured and closed up my classroom. The learners left and are now home enjoying the holidays with their families. Our learners left mid-November and won’t come back until mid-January…which only means one thing for us “teachers”…VACATION!! I am going to St. Lucia for Thanksgiving with other Peace Corps people, which should be a great time. Good friends, cold drinks, great food, sun, and the beach…what more can a PCV ask for? I would like to add though that swimming at the beach is nearly impossible because in St. Lucia, it is the only place in the world where crocodiles, sharks, and hippos (all very dangerous to humans in the water) coexist . Needless to say, I am going to stay on land. I am also cleaning up my room, doing loads of laundry, and other menial tasks in order to get ready go to America for Christmas!! Hooray for Christmas in a climate that is not 88 degrees Farenheit indoors and even hotter outside!!! Shortly after coming back to SA, I am going to Cape Town as well with some friends so it should be a blast because we are taking the wine route and my pregnant friend is our DD, much to her dislike, so bring on the incredibly cheap but incredibly delicious South African wine! After my return to the oh-so-happening town of Vryheid, a brand new school year will start and my project will be in full force. Did I mention that the town slogan of Vryheid, which is actually published on all of the tourist information, is “Vryheid, where it’s happening”! Now I am not quite sure what “it” is because I have not yet seen “it” happen here, maybe I am not looking though.

Since school has been out, I have busied myself with other things, mostly the children here at the Inkululeko Babies Home. I have learned an incredible amount about health care and VCT (voluntary counseling and testing for HIV) within the past five days. Last Tuesday, one of the babies at our home was found to be very ill. Without getting into too much detail about this baby, whom we shall call Baby A for privacy reasons, I would like to share a little bit about health care in my town, most of which is probably true for much of South Africa. How I got involved in Baby A’s hospital visit or the ensuing madness is unimportant here, the fact is I volunteer and live at this the Home so sometimes volunteers are called to do things that are more difficult than they expected. Children, by law, are supposed to get treatment first in health care situations before adults in hospitals and clinics. From the time that I arrived and the hospital with deathly ill Baby A, to the time that Baby A was finally given any treatment whatsoever besides an x-ray and being diagnosed with a condition that I cannot name here for privacy reasons, was two hours. When I went to admit Baby A to the children’s ward, I was asked by the nurse who made me wait 25 minutes while she finished her coffee, whether or not I am breastfeeding. The look of bewilderment on my face must have answered her question because for the first time in thirty minutes she actually looked at the baby and saw that we have no where near the same skin color and that clearly I have not given birth in the last six weeks. She said “Hawu, phephisa” (“Oh, sorry”) and then asked me “Where is the mother” to which I explain Baby A is an orphan. Not satisified with the answer, she asks me questions about Baby A’s birth history. I reply that because I not Baby A’s mother, and because Baby A is abandoned, there is no way for me to have a birth history and that I am sorry but I only know the history since the home recently received Baby A. She angrily clicks her tongue and her pen and continues to write for ten more minutes. Meanwhile Baby A was not responding to any touch, pinch, words, or to the bottle. Obviously, I was very concerned, but managed to keep calm because if I were to shout or demand anything from the staff at the hospital about how this critically ill baby has been waiting two hours for treatment, they would definitely play a power game with me and make me wait longer as they have done so many more times before. Regardless, Baby A was admitted to the ICU here at Vryheid District Hospital on Tuesday with a serious condition, but one that is treatable and can be completely cured. Baby A died Saturday morning.

Can accurately put into words how I felt about the whole situation that went down at the hospital admittance and after? Probably not. Can I write about how ridiculous and sad the situation was/ is? No, because it is probably not fair and this is not an appropriate space to do so. However, I can say this. There were many mistakes made that day; many on the part of the hospital staff, maybe some on the part of our staff, probably even on the part of my involvement. I could point fingers at the nurses and say that they don’t care about their jobs or the children of that ward because coffee and nap time were deemed more important that dying babies. Yet, there were four nurses that day for forty-nine seriously ill children. If that was me, would I have been running around trying to serve as many children as possible in the best way I can? Yes. But I also have not been working for a system where there are over ten children per nurse to care for with a lack of equipment and effective medicines for years. Can I say that I think that they could have done better? Yes, they could have, but they did not and there are many reasons for that; some completely ridiculous and others incredibly valid. The point is, I cannot judge even though I find myself desperately wanting to place blame somewhere because I just really believe that people, especially children, deserve better. And because they deserve better, I am reserving judgment because being angry or wishing that things were different isn’t going to keep this from happening again. I have had nine days to think about this and I am now in a different place in my mind then where I was on Saturday. I also realize that even if Baby A had been given the best treatment that the world has to offer, we will never know if that would have changed the outcome. Barak Obama said “We are the change we have been waiting for” and he doesn’t know it, but those words resound in so many American’s minds and are a verbal expression of the silent resolve that numerous people are using to improve our world. While I cannot change what happened last week, I can try to prevent it from happening again. I can create relationships with the hospital staff that will help ensure better treatment for our kids here at the home. I can be vigilant in identifying illnesses or problems in our children early and making sure that their problems are not shrugged off but instead given the treatment and attention that is warranted. I can help the local staff in recognizing problems in our children and also help them in giving better service delivery while still being able to fulfill their other responsibilities. I can create a better system for drug delivery and record keeping for our kids that is user-friendly and effective for the caretakers and the administration. These are things I can do. These are things I want to do. These are things I am working on because I know that there might be someone coming behind me to do the same things I am trying to do or their might be someone who can do it better, but I do not know if and when they will come so I must do it now. Now is not the time to think about what I am lacking but instead about what I have to give. I know I cannot save the world and I do not intend to. Jesus saves; not me. But I know I can give what little skills and knowledge I have along with my time and effort and that will just have to be enough. I know what I am doing…the question is what do you plan to do?

In the one week since school has ended, I have spent over thirty hours at the hospital with our kids learning about them and about the system. I am trying to create healthy working relationships of mutual respect between the hospital staff and our staff so that our kids will get the treatment they need when they need it. I know this is an uphill battle, but I think it is worth it and after spending the night with Toddler N in the hospital when Toddler N came down quickly with something serious, I know that to get good service, you have to be willing to help. FYI...Toddler N is doing much better and hopefully should come home soon. I have also learned that if you want to get CD4 counts done, get a chest x-ray for TB, get viral load counts, or see a doctor in the HIV/TB clinic run by the CDC, you have to get up pretty early in the morning because the doctors basically stop seeing people after their lunch break, which starts at one. I also now am on a first name basis with the records clerks, the pharmacy staff, and one doctor in the CDC clinic. Hopefully these relationships will grow and together we can find ways to fix the problems that we are facing in this ARV rollout and clinical service delivery. Will this make a difference? I don’t know, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

So folks, this has been how I have spent my last nine days. It is now a cool 89.9F in my room and I am sweating like a pig and feel as if I am going to pass out from heat stroke in my little oven of a room. If only heat could make you tan then I would be a bronze goddess. Time for a shower. Hopefully there will be water. The municipal water pipe broke again for the third time in two weeks, but at least there are no red worms swimming in the water this time. I am sorry for the somewhat heavy subject matter of this blog. I promise that I did my best to censor this and that I am trying to keep this as positive as possible. I think that it is also very important that I do not paint the reality of life here as something that is it not though and everything is not made of lollipops and gumdrops. However, it is all in how you see it and from where I am standing life is pretty good.

“Help me break down the walls of separation within our community. Help me build bridges of love and understanding. Help me sweep away the debris of isms, phobias, broken connections, and shattered hopes. Prepare my heart to prepare the way. Encourage me to think the first thought, to make the first sound, to speak the first word. Help me break the silence”.
-A prayer in the midst of a church living with AIDS