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The family and I took a lovely trip to Grahamstown yesterday. This time of the year features the National Arts Festival, an annual event I’ve visited only twice now.

Grahamstown is a cultural hub and offers breathtaking architecture and the all the trimmings of a small university-town. The ArtsFest offers a great many stalls offering handiwork for sale and a colossal variety of performances to view. These include musical, ballet, dance, arts, drama – the works.

Think of the stalls as a fleamarket offering artsy and handcrafted goods. My favourite finds:

Two lovely woven scarves. Perfect addition to any outfit.

Handcrafted handbag - flaunt it!

My pièce de résistance - earrings made from coca-cola bottletops!

We watched a performance by the Luca Ciarla Quartet. This Italian quartet, lead by acclaimed violinist Luca Ciarla, combines music in a way that is nearly tangible. Instruments include the accordion, bass guitar, double bass and percussion. Their genre has been described as Mediterranean Jazz although I would wager that it should hardly be labelled.

I know a little about music, but this is the first time I have truly seen people “make love to their instruments”, so to speak. Perhaps the better term would be to converse with their instruments. It is as though they talk to them and the response is beautifully blended art. They were rewarded with a standing ovation for this show and well-deserved indeed.

© Luciano di Lello

Close to the end of the show (the final one for the festival), Carlia shared that the quartet thoroughly enjoyed the Arts Festival, particularly for the variety on offer. According to him, while cultural festivals are not scarce in Europe they are largely defined to set genres.

Says Ciarla, “This is the future.”

This past week, the eighth known Eastern Cape Xhosa initiate passed away due to complications from ritual circumcision.

The circumcision rituals, known as Ulwaluko, are traditional within the Xhosa culture (and many other African cultures). The ceremonies signify the passage from boy to manhood.

Young Xhosa Abakwetha. © James Nachtwey, National Geographic

Part of the rituals includes living in “the bush” for a period of time. This signifies preparing the young man for adulthood.

Unfortunately tradition and modern science conflict here. Historically – just like the very first circumcision we know of, that of Moses of Genesis – the circumcision was performed by an elder, without medical knowledge of sterile working areas. This predisposes the initiate to multifarious infections.

In the course of the 2010 initiation seasons, 62 initiates died due to complications of circumcision. During the same season, 23 young men lost their genitals due to such complications.

And I ask myself: do these men feel like half-men or supermen?

The Department of Health drafted guidelines to effectuate a safer process in 2003. Underage boys must be given parental consent. All hopeful initiates must undergo a medical check-up. Initiation schools must be accredited by the department. These accredited schools will have a medical practitioner on-call for emergencies.

These guidelines, rather than dismissing customs and rites, bear the prospect of securing the continued use of culture and tradition by enabling them to co-exist (rather than compete) with modern life.

A significant culprit here is initiation schools that are not accredited – schools run by those alleging to be traditional healers, people in it for a “quick buck”. Such schools are not subject to the DOH’s regulations and are not supplied with sterile and necessary equipment. If discovered these schools are shut down and the individuals behind them are fined. But what do you do to a man that steals your manhood? Or to a man that kills your son?

Young initiates still die. The continued use of the so-called “illegal” initiation schools can be resultant of some factors. For one, initiation schools are not free. In a province where food is frequently financially unattainable, cheaper may be the “only” option.

On the contrary, circumcision is offered free of charge at state-funded hospitals. Whether this has perhaps not been marketed sufficiently may be the case.

Finally, attending a harsh and traditional “bush” experience may well become a matter of honor among the new Abakwetha.

Perhaps, in a country where thousands die of AIDS and violence, getting swept up at the death of a handful of young boys seems excessive. Such a point necessitates one to zoom in from the big picture and view individual puzzle pieces.

This is not my tradition, but it is a tradition I must respect as any other. We make alliances and start campaigns; both the DOH and the Council for Traditional Healers. Somehow the word must get out. Even when that is done, it is possible that the full impact is not heard by potential initiates. Then what do we do?

This is not my culture, but I am African and these are still my countrymen: my young brothers. Every harm that befalls them, affects me in some way. This I would wish to say to them: claiming your manhood by insubordinate means does not make you a hero. In fact, the Xhosa culture reveres the wisdom of the elders. These regulations have been made for protection, not to tame the man within you.

Each is a human life. Each may be a future politician or scientist (and yes, perhaps a villain). Each is a son or a brother, someone to someone.

Latest news regarding Eastern Cape Health regards the MEC of the department discovering a separate entrance for HIV-positive patients at the Sundays River Valley Hospital yesterday. Enraged, he ordered it to be locked and never opened again.

The South African Constitution and Bill of Rights proclaims “everyone is equal before the law”. This was written such as to right the wrongs of our country’s past, where discrimination based upon sex, race and disability was rife.

By that sentiment, making patients with a specific diagnosis enter through a separate entrance is unconstitutional.

From experience I know that the public health sector is overloaded and has severe staff shortages. I also know that it was probably in the name of efficiency and not of discrimination that this hospital started their “separate entrance” policy.

However, I struggle to understand how the idea of separate entrances did not ring a very loud warning bell in their ears this early after Apartheid, where separate entrances and indeed separate public amenities were at the order of the day.

Edit by M.Puchert 2011, Original photograph of entrance to Apartheid Museum S.A. by GlobalBrief.ca

I have seen clinics in the Western Cape where HIV-patients line-up in a different queue for their ARVs. They enter through the same door, but once inside, everyone can guess their status.

This should also be considered unacceptable. In truth, there is still a stigma attached to HIV and AIDS. It should not be that way, but it is.

People are still ousted by their communities and families if they are found to be HIV-positive and in light of that, health care workers must respect their need for privacy.

Sometimes we need to prioritise our values and in this situation, human rights must trump efficacy.

 Day 5: What do you prefer to do on your birthday?

Birthdays are big in our family – as are Mothersdays, Fathersdays, and holidays like Christmas and Easter. We have learnt how fragile life is, even the youngest of us. In my Grade 12-year we lost so many family  members and friends that I seemed to develop an anxiety disorder, convinced that I would be next.

© D. Puchert 1995

Every special day on the calendar our prayer is: Thank you for sparing us to another day of togetherness.

The photo alongside is of my fifth birthday party. We didn’t grow up rich, but my parents always managed to make our days special. My mom would choose a theme and have an awesome cake baked for me.

© D. Puchert 2008

As I grew up, I was a bit scornful of those kids who chose to spend their birthdays solely with their parents. I felt that special days should be spent with as many friends as possible. The photo is of my 18th birthday, a braai/pool/dance party. I love having mybirthday in the South African Summer!

© D. Puchert 2010

Since going to university, I haven’t been home for my birthday in three years. Nowadays I much prefer intimate do’s with those closest to me. They know that, so we all tend to make a plan.

This year I was lucky enough to celebrate my birthday three times. It was my 21st so I think that justifies it.

The first was the night before I returned to Cape Town – two weeks before my actual birthday. We went to a lovely little place in East London called Pier99.

 On my actual birthday I went to Buena Vista in Greenpoint, Cape Town, with a couple of close friends. A few days later The Boy flew me up to Johannesburg to spend the weekend with him and his mom. I didn’t take any pictures though, boo.

Birthdays are big in our family. Not always what we do, but certainly how we do it.

Life is too short to be small.

Benjamin Disraeli

 

Before being allowed to commence the clinical rotations of our third year, my class has to witness three NVDs (normal vaginal deliveries). Today I went to a provincial hospital in the Eastern Cape for mine.

The Eastern Cape is notorious for its poor administration, but medical students love working or shadowing here as it offers valuable experience.

I had to wake up at 06:00 in order to be at the hospital by 07:30. When I got there, the PR-person who told me to meet her at this time in order to sign an indemnity, was on Christmas-leave already. We then discovered that the doctor I was supposed to shadow was also on leave. The next-in-line told us that he was in a meeting till 09:00 and that I should come by then. By 09:30 I was sitting in the Obstetrics doctors’ tea-room waiting to be told where to go while they attended to an emergency C-section.

SMS to The Boy at 10:15:54:

Don’t think I wanna do internship in EC one day anymore. I’m sure at least ten babies have popped out in the time that I’ve been sitting here just waiting for the doctor to show up!

Not long thereafter I met another student (a third year from another university) who was also shadowing. That was pretty cool and we ended up going everywhere together during the day. She showed me around and also translated a bit, as nurses here tend to speak in Xhosa in the heat of labour.

Before I move on to a description of cases (paying careful attention to their privacy and the sensitivity of my readers) I should mention that this hospital, which apparently average 30 births a day, was remarkably quiet today. Unfortunately for me.

CASE 1

The mother, whom I estimated to be about sixteen, was eighteen years old. I am not sure how long she had been in labour as I had just arrived in the labour ward. She was tiny for an 18-year-old. At some point she shouted something (in Xhosa) and everybody laughed (jovially, not mockingly). My new friend says she exclaimed that she will never get pregnant again. A third year nursing student was handling the birth mostly. She and the patient bantered quite a lot, I couldn’t quite tell if they were joking or dissing.

The patient had quite a bit of vaginal bleeding from the beginning of her water breaking. One of the doctors then tutored us on Placenta Praevia and Abruptio Placenta (I knew almost all the answers and felt rather chuffed), so I’m guessing the cause for the bleeding was Grade I or II Praevia.

This was where I saw my first bit of innovation. A nurse was told to put up an IV and he used a latex glove as a tourniquet.

The mom was in a lot of pain, but she pushed well and a baby girl was born at 11:05. Don’t take this as a racist statement but: I honestly didn’t know that black-African babies are quite so white (or rather pale) at birth. I suppose if one thinks logically, the fact that all babies are slightly blue immediately after birth does kind of lead to this fact though. I must learn to think further than my nose.

The mother also had a second-degree tear which had to be sutured. The nurse taught me that one first has to look for the apex of the tear (where it originates), which is quite a mission if there is a lot of bleeding.

CASE 2

There was nobody in labour, so one of the younger doctors (she is doing her community service year and is very nice) told us we could watch a C-section.

The patient is currently in jail, serving a twelve year sentence. There were three female guards from Correctional Services there with her. They weren’t allowed in theatre and had to observe through a little window. I think it’s good, shame, let the woman give birth in peace.

Did you know that they don’t do the full depth of the incision with a scalpel? They cut through the skin and fat, and then they tear the rest of the layers until they reach the uterus. It’s rather unnerving to witness, but apparently it aids healing a lot, as torn fibres heal quicker than sliced fibres.

C-sections go so quickly! I’m sure the longest part was suturing the patient up afterwards. It is quite silly of me, but I never realised that you suture the uterus up separately from the skin and muscle.

Another thing I learnt is that suturing in obstetrics is a challenge! One uses those tong-like scissors so that you don’t have to touch the needle – it minimises prick-risk, I suppose. It requires quite a bit of dexterity I think.

At 12:05 a baby girl was delivered.

CASE 3

A lady was brought in by ambulance from a satellite clinic. Her water had broken at 18:00 the previous night and by the morning she had no pain, no contractions and was 4cm dilated. She was scheduled for a C-section at 14:00, but upon the PV examination it was found that she was fully dilated (that’s 9cm, I think) with caput.

It seemed to be a rather large baby. That, along with the lack of contractions and the fact that the baby’s head was in the upper fifth made a senior doctor diagnose cephalo-pelvic disproportion, which basically means that Mom’s pelvis is not adequately shaped or sized for the size of the baby. One of the doctors even wondered if maybe there were twins, since the satellite clinics don’t have access to scans.

Another doctor did a PV and said that the baby’s head was engaged. That means that most of the baby’s head is in the pelvic inlet and the general rule is what goes in, must come out.

In this situation it is possible to deliver by Caesarean, but the doctor says it is a very messy and big operation. Somebody basically has to insert their hand vaginally and push Baby back up before they can remove him. It is safer for Baby, but should only be done if absolutely necessary.

Just before two a doctor decided that the baby needed to be delivered naturally, or at least attempted. The CTG (cardiotopogram) was beautiful by the way, so Baby was not in distress at all.

This was by far the most interesting case of the day. Despite oxytocin infusion, Mom still didn’t have contractions. But baby was somehow descending. Maybe she just has a crazy-high pain threshold? When told to push she didn’t really do it properly. The doctor then proceeded to apply pressure to her abdomen! That was shocking, I am sure we never learnt that in theory. This caused pain to the mother. The previously-mentioned com-serve doctor jumped onto the bed with the patient to give her something to hold on to.

At 14:10 a baby boy was born.

By the way, this patient was 31 years old and it was her first ever pregnancy. Some of the nurses actually shook her hand. In rural Eastern Cape, it is a huge achievement if you manage not to get pregnant in your teens.

The patient had gushing post-partum haemorrhage. She had a second-degree tear but it didn’t explain the gushing nature. The nurse removed some clotted blood that remained after the placenta had been delivered and the gushing stopped. I don’t know how that works physiologically, but it is one of the exact things we learnt in our Reproductive theory.

Baby was actually rather small, the placenta was normal and there was no twin. I still don’t know why he seemed so big upon palpation.

MORE GENERAL STUFF

There was a patient who was in preterm labour at 32 weeks. She was given steroids to increase surfactant production (basically: to mature the foetal lungs) and tocolytic agents to hopefully decrease or stop her contractions. I think they worked because if I heard correctly, she went from 4cm to 2cm. Is that possible?

I felt sorry for her because she has had a miscarriage and an early neonatal death before. She was so nervous and she cried a lot. She begged the doctors to “cut him” – the patient-colloquial for performing a C-section – but the doctor explained that the baby would struggle to survive. [Note, most South African public hospitals are not equipped well enough to deal with premies at the level of private hospitals.]

She really wants this baby. It is an amazing sight in a country where the birth of another infant often means another mouth to feed, another social grant to collect, another body that needs to sleep somewhere in cramped living quarters.

The goal was to delay the delivery by at least 24 hours. I do hope they succeeded.

I learnt so much today. After seeing an intern performing a C-section, I definitely want to do my internship in the Eastern Cape. I feel like I am studying the right course. I think I can do this. And I think that I would love to specialise in OBGYN.

Many of my friends spoke about an overwhelming feeling when a new life is brought into the world. Like an epiphany. I didn’t really feel that. It just felt… right, I guess. But tonight I watched the movie Faster, and it had so much violence and murder. And I cried! I have never cried in an action movie before.

Oh, I almost fainted twice. Not from the blood, but from the heat! It was quite embarrassing, although I didn’t attract attention at all. I learnt that moving around helps. I do hope that vasovagal responses don’t ruin my clinical rounds.

This is me in my scrubs after a long day - I am exhausted here so please don't judge :)

 

I wore my navy scrubs (issued by my university) today. They are so comfortable; I wish I could wear them all the time. They also look rather smart, in my opinion. I took a bag along and packed my name badge, (pink)stethoscope and my protective eyewear (which I didn’t end up using). I also packed tampons (because I never go anywhere without them), a sachet of coffee and some money. I took my camera but didn’t even take a picture when I was all dressed up for the OR in greens. I think I looked funny with only my eyes showing. Furthermore I brought a clean shirt along, just in case. No sweater, because it is crazy hot in the hospital and it is summer anyways. And lipbalm. Never go anywhere without lipbalm.

But for the grand finale…

I forgot to wear deodorant!!!!

Who forgets to apply deodorant in the Summer, when you know you are going to a crazy hot hospital? I was so worried and considered “borrowing” some isopropyl wipes. But for some or other reason there was no sweat or if there was, not odour. Honestly no odour.

Tomorrow I’ll watch one more NVD… then I am ready for my obstetrics rotation!

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