We moved her near the oxygen, a sure sign of impending death at our small hospital in Uganda. She was so still, a photograph. A soft fuzz of hair had escaped her red-streaked braids. It formed a halo around the top of her head, as if she had moved while the camera shutter clicked and was forever cursed with a touch of blur. Her lower eyelids dropped down, sagging from the effort and offering a glimpse of her reddened, dried eyes. When she breathed, it was ragged and slow, resonating through her chest and echoing out.
The new interns had started today. Fiddling and overwhelmed, they quickly lost track of their to-do lists that were rattled off as we rounded: draw blood here, do a biopsy there, follow up on her results, and send him home now. It was clear by the time we finished rounds that it was all too much for them, the pep talks, the inspirational monologues, and the high work expectations. They were regaled with stories of our own internships, struggles, and successes and with how we impressed our staff and always went the extra mile.
Read more CJEM – Lumbar Punctures Don’t Kill People
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