Tuesday 8th May
His name is B... I looked for him everywhere all morning but he had been taken to the ICU (Intensive Care Unit). He's 7 months old and only 3,8kg. Most babies weigh more when they are born. He's in bad shape but at least he pulled through the night. B… has become "my patient". Not that I can help, by any means, but he is a symbol for all those acute malnourished patients we have. His mum died a few weeks after giving birth to him. We suspect HIV but are not sure. It's the mum's sister who has brought him to the hospital. She wakes over him like he is her own. B… is suspected to have TB has well. He is probably suffering from secondary malnutrition: malnutrition following an infection or disease like malaria or TB. He's grasping every breath he can and is looking more and more distraught by the hour. A fever is also coming up. I am really upset. Not in front of the doctors nor the sister but this is really difficult. I like this kid. I whish I could just take him in my arms and tell him everything will be fine but that would just be a lie. No-one at this stage can guarantee that he will survive.
B… is one of many patients that come here suffering from acute malnutrition. When we arrived after lunch time in our hospital with Kristina, the Swedish doctor, a baby boy was receiving CPR. For 25 minutes, the doctors tried to save him but it was already too late. Seeing a little baby aged not more than a few months been given CPR is something I wish on no-one. It's hard. It looks like they're going to break the baby in two. The mum, a girl that didn't look more than twenty, was crying in a corner. She just came to the hospital too late. Many mums come to the hospital or clinics when sometimes it's too late to help the children. Not because they don't care but because they can't do otherwise. They either don't know that we provide free care, live too far away, have to work to provide for the other children or can't afford a cab to drive them to the hospital. 75% of the Liberian population lives on less than 1 dollar per day. Taking a cab is just not an option.
I have spent the entire afternoon in the ICU. Not only for B… but also to see how other children were taken care off. The good news is that some were stable and could leave the unit to go to a "normal" ward. It's certainly not only about death, it's about hope for a great majority amongst them.
His name is B... I looked for him everywhere all morning but he had been taken to the ICU (Intensive Care Unit). He's 7 months old and only 3,8kg. Most babies weigh more when they are born. He's in bad shape but at least he pulled through the night. B… has become "my patient". Not that I can help, by any means, but he is a symbol for all those acute malnourished patients we have. His mum died a few weeks after giving birth to him. We suspect HIV but are not sure. It's the mum's sister who has brought him to the hospital. She wakes over him like he is her own. B… is suspected to have TB has well. He is probably suffering from secondary malnutrition: malnutrition following an infection or disease like malaria or TB. He's grasping every breath he can and is looking more and more distraught by the hour. A fever is also coming up. I am really upset. Not in front of the doctors nor the sister but this is really difficult. I like this kid. I whish I could just take him in my arms and tell him everything will be fine but that would just be a lie. No-one at this stage can guarantee that he will survive.
B… is one of many patients that come here suffering from acute malnutrition. When we arrived after lunch time in our hospital with Kristina, the Swedish doctor, a baby boy was receiving CPR. For 25 minutes, the doctors tried to save him but it was already too late. Seeing a little baby aged not more than a few months been given CPR is something I wish on no-one. It's hard. It looks like they're going to break the baby in two. The mum, a girl that didn't look more than twenty, was crying in a corner. She just came to the hospital too late. Many mums come to the hospital or clinics when sometimes it's too late to help the children. Not because they don't care but because they can't do otherwise. They either don't know that we provide free care, live too far away, have to work to provide for the other children or can't afford a cab to drive them to the hospital. 75% of the Liberian population lives on less than 1 dollar per day. Taking a cab is just not an option.
I have spent the entire afternoon in the ICU. Not only for B… but also to see how other children were taken care off. The good news is that some were stable and could leave the unit to go to a "normal" ward. It's certainly not only about death, it's about hope for a great majority amongst them.
Outside, mothers are waiting with their children to go home. It's good to see how well some children leave the hospital. A boy runs to me with a big smile on his face. He's just so cute, bubbly and full of life. I play with him for a little while: he tries to push me but he's probably not even two years old. It gives me confidence: this incredible team is achieving so much. It's not only about hope but about concrete results and this little boy is the living proof of that. I just wish B… will come out of the hospital with a big grin on his face. Long way to go though.
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