Today it feels like Cambodia stuck its little claws in and said, 'So you think you've got this sorted!?'.
I went in to see a patient that Noni was worried about, young and only 10 weeks post partum, she had come in from another hospital where she had had 15 units of blood (Hb 5) and TB treatment, when she arrived she was GCS 6/15 and in shock, lungs full of fluid saturating 50% on 15L.
Her prognosis at this point was very poor, and when she stopped breathing we administered a brief amount of poorly organised and probably, had it been good quality, still futile, resuscitation. As I completed a couple of rounds of CPR I pushed into her chest and felt her small rib crack under my hand. I was so shocked I lifted my hands off and then put them straight back on and continued.
After this we went to a ribbon cutting ceremony and listened to the in-country director of our supposedly non-religious organisation talk about how blessed we were etc. which did nothing to improve my mood.
I went to Kinyei after work, whinged to Liz a bit and tried to do some work that I'v been stressed about not being able to complete and then I came home. I went out to get some beer to write this with and turned around to be face to face with one of the poor homeless kids who hangs around Battambang, I was so wrapped up in my head that his grinning face scared the shit out of me more than it would have normally, When I got back he was still hanging around and I told him to go away. I feel like its wrong to tell a hungry kid to go away, but at the same time he scares me often when he is hanging out there in the dark, and I don't want him to be there a lot. There are a lot of kids addicted to glue and I don't want them to know where I live and to hang out in the alley there.
I don't really know what the point of this post is, maybe just to vent about the fact that life's not fair, things are far from perfect, especially if you happen to be born in a war ravaged country with poor infrastructure, health care, and social support.
I went in to see a patient that Noni was worried about, young and only 10 weeks post partum, she had come in from another hospital where she had had 15 units of blood (Hb 5) and TB treatment, when she arrived she was GCS 6/15 and in shock, lungs full of fluid saturating 50% on 15L.
Her prognosis at this point was very poor, and when she stopped breathing we administered a brief amount of poorly organised and probably, had it been good quality, still futile, resuscitation. As I completed a couple of rounds of CPR I pushed into her chest and felt her small rib crack under my hand. I was so shocked I lifted my hands off and then put them straight back on and continued.
After this we went to a ribbon cutting ceremony and listened to the in-country director of our supposedly non-religious organisation talk about how blessed we were etc. which did nothing to improve my mood.
I went to Kinyei after work, whinged to Liz a bit and tried to do some work that I'v been stressed about not being able to complete and then I came home. I went out to get some beer to write this with and turned around to be face to face with one of the poor homeless kids who hangs around Battambang, I was so wrapped up in my head that his grinning face scared the shit out of me more than it would have normally, When I got back he was still hanging around and I told him to go away. I feel like its wrong to tell a hungry kid to go away, but at the same time he scares me often when he is hanging out there in the dark, and I don't want him to be there a lot. There are a lot of kids addicted to glue and I don't want them to know where I live and to hang out in the alley there.
I don't really know what the point of this post is, maybe just to vent about the fact that life's not fair, things are far from perfect, especially if you happen to be born in a war ravaged country with poor infrastructure, health care, and social support.
