By Robert Bake Tumuhaise
I have never had a painful experience that is even close to what I had at Mulago hospital today. It was not physical, but emotional pain – that which drills a bottomless pit in your heart that you feel might never be filled. Time-check, it’s 6:45am and I am right at the counter the doctor instructed me to go to for my patient to be transferred to the relevant section of the hospital that handles her ailment. Seeing no line, I feel proud to have arrived in time (15 minutes earlier than expected). The counter is empty but I wait with hope. Between 7am and 7:30am, about 3 uniformed people come and sit at that counter for some minutes and I try to talk to them but none of them even responds to my ‘Good Morning”. I take it easy. Possibly it isn’t their work and so they have no business responding to anyone’s questions. One kind cleaner looks at me and suspects I must be there for the first time. She lovingly directs me to the Records Office (I could see kindness in her eyes). 7:53am, I knock and no one responds despite the office harbouring 4 officers who were talking about everything happening in Uganda – from politics to corruption, fashion, soccer, KCCA.... I enter and this stern-faced man remarks, “Where did such people grow up from? Can’t you see that you are supposed to stand outside and wait from there?” (I don’t know how I was supposed to ‘see’ that). “But I…,” before I could ask any question he interrupts me – all to emphasize that I wasn’t supposed to enter. After waiting for about 30 minutes and people were beginning to enter, I also forcefully enter again and insist on telling them why I was there, without caring whether they were listening or not. They ask me for the medical documents; I give them all the doctors had given us and they say there are two missing – a referral note and a consent note (I wonder why the doctor had just referred us verbally yet he knows those documents are required). By then I have been joined by my sister. Well, we call him and he tells us he is on his way. We wait for another hour and a half and he gives us what was needed. We return to the Records Office and they receive the documents. I am happy that at long last my patient is going to be attended to only to be told again to go outside and wait. Another hour passes but we couldn’t be given any minute to ask what first aid we can give to our patient. I felt like breaking into the locker, getting a drip and glucose and fixing it on my mum in the car at least to revive some energy, but I remember I studied history, CRE, psychology and sociology, none of which involved needles. NB: It’s now already midday and we haven’t even finished the first step of having our patient’s name recorded and a file created). I insist on informing them that our case is an emergency and they tell me they are tired of that word; they have seen so many emergencies. Turning on the side, I see a man whose foot was practically rotten, with some bones being seen. He was inquiring from a hospital staff whether he can see a doctor and he was asked how he could come at midday to see a doctor if he was using his brain. Apparently, he should have come very early (but can’t a patient be respected even if he came late? Did he know Mulago’s schedule?) For a moment I feel like forgetting about what had taken me there and help this man, but I restrained myself. Another hour passes and we haven’t had our patient’s name registered. I peep again and look at this lady whose face suggests she is kinder (or rather less harsh) than her colleagues (but how wrong I was)! She tells me to stop peeping or else I would be punished for being big-headed instead of being calm (but how can I be calm when I have a 75-year old mum who can’t eat, can’t turn, can’t sit, who is just lying in the car, under the scotching sun?) At this point I choose to reflect on life generally. How many years do we have on earth and how can we make them more meaningful? Does everyone deserve a job? Do those who interview applicants for jobs in hospitals consider the nature of the candidates’ hearts? I realise there are people who work like they are forced to. Yet there are many good doctors, nurses and other medical practitioners I know who give you all the hope, love, care and comfort in the world that even when your problem is as big as a mountain, you see it as a small anthill. You feel you are in the right hands, no matter what follows. Possibly the major reason we came to Mulago was because that case could not be handled elsewhere in the country. Should I blame the government for this behaviour of some Mulago staff? No. Should I say “Tusaba gavumenti Etuyambe?” No. What this has taught me to do is pursue my dream further, inspire as many people as I can, impact millions of medical practitioners to love what they do, make billions of money so I can do charity (yes, in my retirement I will use my own money to build a hospital where people will access free medical help)… It’s now coming to evening and I am yet to see any help from Mulago. For now, I have decided to step out of the hospital to attend to something, but also to free my mind a little and then return to my mum when I am once again inspired and positive-minded. But I know that, in heaven above, there is someone more powerful than you and I, more powerful than all the equipment and staff at Mulago, more powerful than all the drugs that can ever be created. I rest in the confidence that there is a God whose power is unmatchable, his love unbeatable, his touch irresistible, his promise unchangeable, and so my faith in him is unshakable. I know he will heal my mum and all other patients who are calling upon his name. The same power that conquered the grave, divided the Red Sea, kept Daniel alive amidst lions, healed a woman who had been bleeding for 12 years, made Peter walk on water, pulled Lazarus out of the grave… lives in us. Jesus, by your stripes, mum is healed. Amen!
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