Had one of those 'only as an aid worker in a developing country' experiences today....
Right before walking into a meeting with three consultants trying to reform the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Timor-Leste, I get a call from Chris explaining that he thinks he found the reason why Luka has mysteriously been waking up at night for the pas three nights (I thought it was because I had just got used to the idea of sleeping 7pm-7am, so he obviously had to change the rules). Turns out, we think he has his first ear infection. Explains the swelling, spots, and yanking at the left lobe, accompanied by muchos crying.
Unfortunately, as you may recall if you have been reading this blog for some time, medical care is not exactly abundant on the island. First call (of course) the (new, unknown, yet to be met) Australian doctor who replaced our Dr. Nichelle (purveyor of hope, steroids and visas in our premature state last year). Unfortunately the new doctor is fully booked and not able to see us. Okay, slight problem, seeing as how the very kind Portuguese doctor recently had his funding cut by the Portuguese government (European austerity anyone?) and now no longer sees anyone not-Portuguese - and despite all the nationalities and birth places between the three of us, Portugal is not one of them.
Okay, what to do. UN doctor is out, neither one of us works for the UN, so, only option that is left (before braving the national hospital, that is) is a contact for a 'Cuban doctor with a Japanese assistant' at a clinic near my office. I got the number from a friend who's friend had a good experience there recently when she needed care for some burn wounds...this friend obviously spoke more Spanish than I.
I dialed the number and a faint voice answered in Spanish. "Is this Dr. Mileisy" I asked? "Si" comes the response. "Doctor, I think my son might have an ear infection, can we..."*a&^##sdoihbadsgxopaoihsadg" comes the response from the doctor who fires back in Spanish....
Hm...."ono momento" I offered....followed by: "Doctor Hola, pienso que mi hijo tiene una infección de oído. ¿Es su clínica abierta en el momento - ¿necesito una cita? ¿Dónde se localiza?"
That's right people - a few keyboard strokes on GoogleTranslate later, and I am fluent in Spanish to communicate with my son's new Cuban doctor in East Timor.
When Chris pulled up outside my office with the patient, I grabbed my computer and 3G Internet connection, just in case we needed any more habla'ing in any more tongues, and we set of to find la clinica. The clinic was a small pharmacia in the front with three consultation rooms in back. The front was stacked to the brim with Chinese drugs, and believe it or not, a few pieces of (what I have to imagine is knock-off) TRX equipment, I kid you not (I only know this because we recently acquired a TRX setup, and it was not $70, not even close). All I could think of the entire time was the recent BBC story about a few hundred people who died from defective heart medication in Pakistan, and the packet of Chinese condmns for sale at the Timor Plaza (which I am convinced has something to do with the high birth rate in Timor?), and suddenly I longed for the FDA.
When it was our turn to see the doctor, I remember standing in the consultation room thinking to myself that my friend who works as a lawyer in the health care industry in Los Angeles would have a heart attack when she saw the mangy examination bed (which I wouldn't let Luka touch), the messy desk, and best of all, the open waste disposal basket with used syringes and other medical supplies filling it to the brim. And so came the time to communicate - seeing as how I spoke only enough Spanish to order two beers, and ask for the banos, and Dr. M spoke even less English than I Spanish, I asked whether she had a Timorese colleague that could translate - when she switched over into perfect Tetun. So here we were, a South African, an American, and a Cuban, all discussing the health of an Australian-born baby, in Tetun, in a Chinese clinic in East Timor. Seems par for the course no?
Dr. M was great, she immediately confirmed the diagnosis, and didn't bat an eye when we hesitated to buy medication from the pharmacy, saying, without missing a beat, "bainhira sosa hosi Australia, bele haree informacion kona ba dosage" - essentially that, when we buy the Australian drugs, we just have to make sure we check the dosage. Hm, simple enough - though, for reasons we won't go into, we were in fact not able to procure drugs from down under, so had to settle for the next best thing - antibiotics from India. Turns out the instructions from the doctor who spoke no English, coupled with the pharmacist who spoke no English, coupled with the drugs that didn't make sense led to us accidentally overdosing Luka on Amoxiccillin (don't worry, not that much overdosed, just the dosage for a 7-year old kid, or the whole daily dosage for an infant in one sitting). Needless to say we panicked, fortunately we were with our very level-headed Aussie friend who's mom happens to be a nurse - so a phone call to Australia and we were rest assured that he will be fine, just to watch him for any allergic reaction to Penicillin and we had to give him plenty of liquids.
Yowzer, and that was all before 10am....let's just say, my day did not get significantly better from there on - but happy to report that Luka was in amazing spirits (Gus can attest to the spunk back in our super-crawler) and he is currently fast asleep....which, at 11pm, is where mommy needs to head.
Ah, another day in Dili.
