Health Care: Part II

After discussing my symptoms with the doctor, I was wheeled to a room which I can only describe as the ER. Unbeknownst to me, eagerly awaiting medicine on a bed, my program director and her husband were arguing with the nurses about getting me some medicine. Apparently, they did not think I was seriously sick enough to warrant “free” drugs and were demanding payment before treatment. I only heard shouting and only later confirmed my suspicions with my roommate who was kind enough to accompany me to the University Hospital. Finally, a nurse came by, drew blood and hooked me up to an IV. The IV was an entirely new experience for me and was frightening. My previous hospital stay was about 20 years ago as three month old infant who thought it prudent to see just what the parental unit was made of through the whooping cough test (My current existence suggests a passing mark).

During this “ER” stay, the unmentionables struck and I discovered that toilet paper was not in stock nor had it ever been. While I expect this at almost every public place in Ghana, it was somewhat of a shock at the hospital. I shudder to think of the alternative.

Eventually, I was moved to another room which would become my confinement for the next not one but two evenings. Medicine was hooked up to my IV tube (also a scary process). My program director and her husband along with my roommate appeared. Her husband had found toilet paper and soap at a nearby market stall. They would be back later with additional stuff and I provided a list of important items that I would need.

The dinner cart, literally a few pots on a cart, arrived later that evening. A kindly father tending to his son in the next bed made sure that I received some food as I was sort of out of it, having just awoken from a nap in which I dreamt a rather vivid dream. Unfortunately, the kitchen lacked even a single spoon to spare so I had to eat my rice and soap African style (without assistance of utensils). The hospital couldn’t even sell me a plastic spoon! Shortly after that, my program director and her husband reappeared with some of my stuff such as a change of clothes, a Tom Clancy novel, and more dinner. My program director thought that I would be discharged the following morning.