A Bundibugyo Evening

Life here is simply not predictable.

Saturdays are busy - projects, football practice or games, streams of visitors and requests. It's also generally the night when all the singles have dinner at the Myhre's, which is always something to look forward to. I was late for dinner because I was trying to care for the Pierce's former dog Jessie, who now lives on the mission and has had a really nasty open wound, so I ran back to my house splattered with dog blood, showered, and ran up to dinner late (for the record, Jessie is improving greatly). When I got there, Scott was seeing a patient who has stopped by, so I took the meat and threw it on the grill, while Jennifer and the girls finished preparing everything else. We ate a wonderful dinner, as dinners at the Myhre's usually are, and we had just begun discussing what movie we would like to watch when Scott told me that a patient we had seen earlier was back and in need of care.

This old man needed a catheter, so we set up a relatively clean area on the ground in a small building next to the Myhre's house, sterilized some implements, put on sterile gloves and inserted the catheter. Nothing happened. The second try also failed. Since by this time it was 10PM, taking the man to Bundibugyo hospital wasn't a good option as he probably wouldn't be seen until morning, not to mention that the 30 minute drive over bumpy road would be sheer agony for him. So Scott decided to do a procedure then and there. He sterilized some surgical instruments, injected a local anesthetic, and proceeded to cut open the man's abdomen, stick a catheter directly into his bladder, and stitch him back up with the catheter still in place. Remember that this was late at night, so the only light he had was my headlamp and another flashlight being held by a neighbor of the patient. I stood by hoping, probably in vain, that I was being helpful, holding instruments and keeping light on the procedure. Just to review - surgery, blood, urine, on the floor, in the dark - but still well done. Scott told me I'll be horrified when I look back on this in medical school.

The degree of this man's previous discomfort became clear when, after all of this, these unpleasant procedures, this surgery with minimal local anesthesia, he looked at Scott and said "God bless you Doctor." Scott injected his thigh with an antibiotic that is apparently quite painful, and his parting words to us were, "You have killed my leg." After all of that, it was his leg that we killed.

It was 11PM, still terribly hot, and we were both wound up and not really ready for bed, so Scott, Jennifer, and I watched an episode of Prison Break, and I went home around midnight. I found my fridge out, so I had to hook up a new propane tank, light it, and take my second shower of the night, heading to bed at 1.

Animal care, grilling, tacos, surgery, TV, refrigerator maintenance - an evening with a bit of everything. Jennifer asked to me, "Won't it be boring to go back to a place where these sort of things aren't normal?" It seemed like a half-joking question. And my answer would have to be a half-joking yes.