February 26th, 2010 by Bongi in Better Health Network, True Stories
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A while ago I treated a woman with rhabdomyolysis. You see, her husband beat her so severely that she had enough muscle injured that she ran the risk of kidney damage due to breakdown products. I spent some time chatting to her. I couldn’t understand that this beautiful, intelligent woman could find herself in this sort of situation, especially seeing that the bastard had assaulted her twice before. But actually this post isn’t about her. She had finally realised there is no chance that this sort of person is going to change and that she needs to leave him before he kills her. No, this post is about someone else. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at other things amanzi*
February 19th, 2010 by Bongi in Better Health Network, Humor, True Stories
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We can sometimes look good in our jobs. I suppose it comes with the territory. But sometimes this is not a good thing.
Danville is an interesting place. Actually the place itself is drab but it is full of interesting people. To say it is populated by the lower echelons of the gene pool is an understatement of note. For some reason every reprobate and inbreed seems to have found their way there. Throw a few generations of fetal alcohol syndrome into the mix and you have the average Danville resident. Then add a strong predilection to grandpa (a local aspirin caffeine headache powder) to round off with. Usually when they presented to the hospital it is with a bleeding peptic ulcer or a perforated peptic ulcer. In fact they seldom present to us with anything else. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at other things amanzi*
January 23rd, 2010 by Bongi in Better Health Network, True Stories
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After having spoken about when you seem to know more than your consultant, I was reminded of another incident from my internship year where a colleague of mine taught me that sometimes it is best to do certain things under cover of darkness.
The patient (a sangoma) turned up at the surgery clinic one day. My colleague asked her what the problem was. Without uttering a word she lifted up her shirt to expose her breasts. The left one had a massive tumour that had fungated through the skin probably some time ago. There was a large stinking cauliflower-like mass with central ulceration that caused a fist sized cavity right up to the chest wall. The smell was also remarkable. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at other things amanzi*
January 15th, 2010 by Bongi in Better Health Network, True Stories
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Being South African these days sometimes means we see things in a slightly skewed way. It seems to be the way we have become. I have touched on this before, but there is another story which illustrates the point.
The recent run of hijackings were fresh in all our minds because the perpetrators had shot and killed, execution style, a mother and her three year old child just the previous week. There were reports that one specific gang was working the area and were responsible for most if not all the hijackings and associated killings in the area. So when our patient came in, even before the police told us so, we just assumed he was one of this gang. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at other things amanzi*
January 8th, 2010 by Bongi in Better Health Network, True Stories
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Shaking hands is not really such a good idea, especially in a hospital where there are all sorts of nasty bugs floating around, seeking whom they may devour. So generally I do not shake hands unless the patient absolutely insists and I think the cultural slight may be more than he can bear. But one incident highlighted to me the reason you generally don’t want to shake hands so well it could just have well been written all over the hospital in bright neon lights.
I was on call that night so it fell to me to evaluate and treat the patient in casualties which the casualty officer said had a perianal abscess. I approached the bed and introduced myself, but I made a point of positioning myself in such a way that the patient wouldn’t be able to greet me with the traditional handshake. Experience had taught me that this was one case where this cultural idiosyncracy was patricularly ill-advised.
I asked what the problem was. without saying a word his hand moved to his gluteal cleft in one smooth motion. Moments later I found myself staring with morbid fascination as he pulled his butt cheeks apart and started prodding what was clearly an abscess with his finger. It had already broken open slightly so there was a thin stream of pus oozing out and following the natural pull of gravity. The patient’s grubby finger scratched, prodded and poked this poor stream of sepsis, completely disrupting its attempt to soil the bed linen. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at other things amanzi*
A while ago I treated a woman with rhabdomyolysis. You see, her husband beat her so severely that she had enough muscle injured that she ran the risk of kidney damage due to breakdown products. I spent some time chatting to her. I couldn’t understand that this beautiful, intelligent woman could find herself in this sort of situation, especially seeing that the bastard had assaulted her twice before. But actually this post isn’t about her. She had finally realised there is no chance that this sort of person is going to change and that she needs to leave him before he kills her. No, this post is about someone else. Read more »
