Medically challenged

Ed Damer Hospital

Not to exaggerate my near demise in the north of Sudan ... but let's just say it's been a long eight days.

It started out as a typical upset belly and I dismissed it as being something I ate.

Over the next few days I was stuck in bed and unable to attend classes due to severe stomach cramps that made it almost impossible to stand up straight.

I would shuffle back and forth between the sitting room and the kitchen, doubled over and hair askew like a housewife gone to hell.

 ... I lost my appetite and my momentum.

The neighbours stopped by with cups of mint tea and kindness, but still it didn't pass.

I began research possible causes online, which bought up a long list of possible bacterial suspects, including the rather nasty sounding Helicobacter Pylori bug.

When I complained about my symptoms to my friend Rahel she announced she was taking me to hospital.

I'm not going to lie, an African hospital immediately inspired horror images of dingy, roach infested wards.

This image wasn't helped any either when Rahel informed me that the doctors at the hospital were not at the best time of their careers.

In truth, it looked as though people had turned up at the hospital for a social outing rather than because it was medically necessary.

White turbanned men squatted in the shade drinking tea and chatting, while on the other side women in traditional tobes greeted each other in typical Sudanese style - tapping the shoulder and then shaking hands.  

The women's colourful clothing adding a splash of colour to the otherwise drab surroundings and dirt-caked hospital walls.

We entered a nondescript room and Rahel translated my symptoms to a young, female doctor and without any further examination or consultation, she ordered a round of blood tests.

This involved me sticking my bare arm through a small slot in a window and a nurse stabbing at my forearm.

I squirmed and yelped while the lady manhandled my veins. Embarrassingly a line of people waiting behind were there to witness my lack of bravado.

Afterwards, Arm Stabber cackled loudly and suggested a tour of the hospital while we waited for the results

“Who is she?”

“Where did you find her?” , came the incredulous whispered enquiries as we passed through the corridor.

The hospital grounds comprise of the mud-splattered main building, thankfully cheered up by a small front garden lined by palm trees. 

We find a cafeteria located to the back and a dusty outdoor waiting area running parallel to the entrance.

It wasn't immediately clear, however, what people were waiting for exactly, as no-one seemed to be in pain or even in any particular hurry.

Women lazed on benches or on the ground, while nearby a family picniced together on a straw mat.

We snuck in a back door that was marked 'No Entry' and were greeted by a towering guard, who immediatley took on the role as tour guide.

Dressed in a white turban and flowing jellabiya, he had an imposing presence and a booming voice that echoed down the empty corridors.

Setting a brisk pace, the guard pointed out the specialists' offices, as well as the surgical and maternity wards.

The equipment and procedures were somewhat old-fashioned and haphazard, but the hospital itself was clean and well-kept in sharp contrast to my earlier visions.

Half-way down the hall the guard suddenly lowered his voice and quietly enquired about my marital status to Rahel.

When she translated for me, he roared with laughter, giving me a hearty whack on the back that in my newly emaciated state nearly sent me flying down the corridor.

He finished the whirlwind tour by parading me in front of a group of exhausted looking new mums, apparently unperturbed that one was in labour on the bed, before giving me another hearty whack on the back in farewell.

My tests were negative for malaria and typhoid and when I return to the patient's room with my results, I find two new doctors inside.

One says it could be the helicopter err ... helicopbacter thing, while the lady doctor declares it's gastro and promptly leaves the room.

Again there was no examination, although one advises me to drink milk - specifically cold milk and only in the evening.

In the end they send me home with a packet of meds that cost 2 pounds (about 35 euro cents).

Two days later I was at the house of Fadia and her husband Abdul Raheem for lunch only to collapse immediately following the meal.

It was at this point that I was truly grateful for the Sudanese custom of having beds, rather than couches in the living room.

Poor Fadia had to suddenly contend with a groaning, immobile house guest that kept dozing off.

She covered me with a sheet and did her best to take my mind off things with mint tea and discussions about literature.

Instead of the usual handshake, I hug Fadia goodbye as I'm leaving - partly because I'm having standing up straight and partly because I'm so grateful for her mothering and kindness.

The following day Fadia and Abdul Raheem pick me up and take me to a private clinic in Atbara that was recommended by another SVP volunteer.

Ambulance at the ready

The clinic is run by the softly spoken Dr Wadia, the former Dean of the Medical faculty at Camboni College, who is also a supporter of SVP. 

His friend Dr Safiah, who is the current Dean, is also there.

They both speak near flawless English and have a friendly and reassuring approach - although I start to have a nagging concern that my 'condition' isn't nearly serious enough to warrant the attention of two medical deans.

They perform an examination, as well as a series of tests - which all come back negative - and refer me for an ultrasound.

Before leaving the clinic, I knock on Dr Wadia's office door to thank him and enquire about payment.

He looks up from his notes briefly and raises his hand, saying simply: “You are our guest” .

I am both humbled and touched by Dr Wadia's kindness. In fact, his gesture leaves me lost for words at the time.

I can't help thinking how unlikely a similar gesture would be repeated in Australia or other parts of the Western world.

Likewise, Fadia and Abdul Raheem gave up hours of their time to make the 24km round-trip from Ed Damer twice in one day - first to the clinic and then back again in the evening where we waited hours for an ultrasound appointment.

I can honestly say I have never experienced such genuine kindness, hospitality and generosity anywhere else in the world. It is a rare quality and a beautiful aspect of life in Sudan.

Oh...and the diagnosis in the end - gastritis brought on by the anti-malarial meds I was taking.

Turns out news of my medical woes has also been doing the local gossip rounds, with teachers at the various schools Rebecca and I teach at already well-informed about my diagnosis well before I returned to work.