I spent a few months of silence, debating between having and not having, trying to find how or why. Several times a day I found myself thinking, "This is outrageous, this I have to tell the tale. "Or" This is beautiful, I have to share this ". But I started to feel like an intruder in the lives of others, I began to understand that those events that I witnessed, possibly they were part of an intimacy that I had to protect.
I have passed the 10 last months outside Spain, and now that I'm back I've sat down to read the notes; almost every patient story I have met in the Coptic Hospital or in the Makuyu Psychiatric Clinic. After much thought I think that looking for a justification for writing would only speak of my inability to adapt to the reality in which I live. And there is no need to talk about one's shortcomings, these are always evident.
The young Kenyan woman with watery eyes sat next to the white man and the two remained silent looking at infinity
I remember my last Friday night in the hospital, eg. I usually locked myself in query number 4, I would bundle up in a pair of jackets and watch a series online while eating my hospital "dinner", in one of those metal trays. That Friday was especially cold and, after dinner, I decided to take a walk around the hospital. At night there are no consultations, so the only part where there are patients is in emergencies. I crossed the waiting room and saw a white man on the phone laughing quite loudly. A nurse came out to ask me to lower my voice. Did not lower it. Suddenly, of a query, a Kenyan girl came out, very young and very pretty. Her eyes were watery and her clothes were smeared with makeup. He sat next to the white man and he hung up the phone. The two remained silent looking at infinity.
–What has happened?- I asked one of the nurses.
–I don't know –he replied– they may have had sex, her condom is broken and he has suspected she has AIDS.
He paid the girl for sex and when he finished he said: "We should go to the hospital to see if they can give you prophylaxis, I have AIDS »
It sounded typical, so I continued my walk. When I returned to the clinic I met Fayez, the doctor who had treated the case. He asked me if I had seen the couple and I answered yes; then he asked me what I thought had happened. I answered exactly what the nurse had told me.
–I also thought that at first –he said–, But it has not been that way. The man has paid the girl for sex, and when they are done he has told her: "Now we should go to the hospital to see if they can give you prophylaxis, I have AIDS".
When the girl asked him why he had not used protection or why he had not been told, he simply answered: "Revenge". Of course, the case was reported, but I've thought a lot since then about how all the staff prejudged the situation: black girl = AIDS and white man = victim.
A patient arrived who had swallowed his ear and threatened to kill anyone if they did not make him vomit to recover it
Another friday (this time he didn't eat hospital food, but a hamburger while watching a movie John Wayne) a patient came in who had ripped his ear off (not integer, only part) and had swallowed it. He was dragged by his brother and threatened to kill anyone if they did not make him vomit to retrieve his ear. Did not get it back, but that's not the story, the tremendous thing about this case was the performance of the family. The mother immediately came with an evangelical pastor. They were both praying in the waiting room and, when we informed them that the patient had to be transferred to a psychiatric hospital, they accused us of being allies of the devil, for believing that the solution lay in science and not in God.
–Why then did you bring him to a hospital?- Asked.
–For her ear to be recovered– they answered.
Before we could do anything, and without paying the bill, they took the sedated boy away. They dragged him away, how had it come, And they uploaded it to a "matatu" (public transport bus), instructing the driver to have someone drop him off when they got to where he lived. The "Matatu" driver refused, when seeing the state of the boy, and the family left him at the hospital door, “Rested until what we had done was passed to him”. Two nurses picked him up and took him back to the ER. There he spent the night. In the morning he got up and left. Didn't say anything. Simply, he went.
When we informed them that he had to be transferred to a psychiatric hospital, they accused us of being allies of the devil
And the feeling we were left with was helplessness. The one of not being able to help at all, because punctual intervention stays there, but the patient always comes back to his life. Then what?
And so I have my notebook, full of stories that open questions, case stories i remember now, from Madrid, and that from a distance they seem so unreal, so far away. But what happens there, all the time, even when no one counts. Even when it's not written.
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