To the hospital in a hurry

Silly of us to think that Luka would spare us yet another medically-necessitated rapid departure from Dili following our first episode.  Instead, we found ourselves, once again, scrambling to pack in 20 minutes flat, while praying the Internet connection holds to book plane tickets.

Now, now, fortunately this one is much more par for the course and not nearly as exciting and scary as the previous one.  Turns out Luka has Bronchiolitis which is an infection of the small air passages (as opposed to the larger air ways, or the bronchials as was explained to me today). Whatever it is, it makes for one miserable little trooper.  With a fever spike of 40C yesterday, we listened to the poor guy wheezing all night long. At the doctor's this morning his O2 saturation levels (sats) were down to 92%, which is below the 93% that the doctor says is acceptable.  After a few minutes on the torture device known as the nebulizer he responded well - so we were sent home with a home kit to administer ventilin.

All the while we were planning to send Chris and Luka to Darwin tomorrow as a precaution - then it dawned on me, hang on, they're headed to Singapore on Tuesday anyway on their way to South Africa - why not just change that ticket and head up that way - ah right, because the plane leaves in TWO HOURS!  Unfortunately it was also lunch time in Dili, which on an island, is taken very seriously. So we had to wait until after 13h00 before Chris could go back to see the doctor.  By the time he called me to say that she still thinks as a precaution we should take him out, I had under 2 hours to change a ticket and pack for both of them and get them to the airport.  Mind you, it's not just packing for 4 days in Singapore, no, it's packing all the winter clothes Luka and Chris has to take to South Africa for the trip we were originally scheduled to go on next week.

Thanks to Michelle and Judith, we managed to get it all sorted, and off we went to the airport where the Air Timor guys were absolutely amazing and just checked us in right in the office, no line, no counter, no nothing (that is after we showed them the 'fit to fly' medical certificate' of course).

I was devastated to watch the two of them get on the plane, but with my boss out of the country (yes, this always happens when I'm in charge), and the election observation mission I am overseeing arriving in 4 days for the upcoming parliamentary election, I had to stay behind :(

Fortunately we know this is simply precautionary - and soon Chris and Luka will be hanging out at the Singapore Zoo, eating fabulous street cuisine.  We'd just rather he be eating street cuisine down the road from a world class hospital, than wake up tomorrow morning and be out of departing flights for two days.  Just the cost of doing business in our line of work I suppose.

Still sucked putting them on the plane though :(

Ita bele hablas Ingles?

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.

How to get expelled from a US Embassy

...throw up your egg lunch all over the US Ambassador's annual Christmas Party.  Seriously, not the merriest of experiences, but exactly what young Master Luka managed this evening at 1800.  Things were going super, he was once again a main attraction with smiles, cuddles and more smiles abound.  Mommy sang in the Community Choir, then stopped to have a cold beer afterward.  Daddy decided that Luka looked a little hot in his stroller, so removed him - and then it happened.  Poor guy just opened up and barfed* egg everywhere over the floor of the outdoor veranda area.  Needless to say, we were dumbstruck and immediately concerned.  Chris had the wherewithal not to move him, rather holding him like an outstretched rugby ball to finish his business in a neat pile, before I swooped him up and charged indoors to bring him into the cool airconditioned air, just as he blew another load, right down my front (but thank heavens I missed the ambassador's rug!)

I wiped Luka down with cold water on one of the lovely white terry cloths in the Ambassador's guest bathroom, and cleaned myself up some too.  I decided best we head back out and make our leave gracefully or else someone might be concerned, or just deem me rude.  So here we were, Luka covered in egg-flavored puke, and myself looking like I had just participated in the Embassy's annual wet t-shirt contest, not carol singing.

We said our goodbyes, a few fellow parents commiserated mostly by reminiscing about their own offspring's most inappropriate reverse digestion.  Ah, parenthood.

At home, it was a bath, followed by a breastfeed, some more vomiting, some sheet changing, some more breastfeeding, some more vomiting - before mommy and daddy finally figured out just to put him to bed with an empty stomach.

So, at 21h00 we're off to what we believe will be a rough night with the young man.  Don't worry - we're armed with a flight schedule and emergency private number for a doctor in town, just in case.  

* Did you know that there are apparently 339 synonyms for 'puke' on this website.  Hopefully Luka does not make a habit of it and I won't have to learn all of them.