This is my recollection of the events surrounding my kidney stone adventure in Zambia on Monday evening November 7, 2008.
It all began about 8:00pm on a Monday night while at bush camp during our 40/40 training. Bush camp is nothing more than a tent village. We are sitting around after dinner just chatting with friends. Jan and I decided to turn in and head to our tent. About 15 minutes later I developed this severe pain in my side. I was squirming around trying to find a comfortable position when Jan noticed and asked me “What’s wrong”. I told her about the pain and I was trying to get comfortable.
Maybe I should mention here that while we were sitting around chatting, I was leaned back in my chair supporting myself by holding on to two tent poles. The poles gave way and I went straight back in my chair. Fortunately the tent stayed up even minus two of its supports. It really didn’t hurt and we all got a great laugh (at my expense).
Anyway, I guess we both have this thought in the back of our minds that I’d somehow injured myself in the fall from the chair. Jan decides to go get the camp nurse but I told her to hold on that I was going to walk around a bit and see if it would pass (no pun intended here). I’m walking around outside the tent and almost immediately began re-visiting dinner. I’m beginning to think appendicitis now. One thing I know I don’t want to do is have any type of surgery in a bush hospital in Africa. I’m back in the tent lying down and Jan shows up with the camp nurse, Nurse Janet. She gives her preliminary diagnosis, which is kidney stone. Strangely, I am actually relieved. I’ve known several folks with kidney stones and none of them died or required surgery, just heavy drugs. We, (me, Jan, Nurse Janet, and Mat) crawl in the van and head to the not so nearest hospital. Actually the nearest one is only about fifteen minutes away but the “nice” hospital is about an hour away. We head to the “nice” hospital.
It all began about 8:00pm on a Monday night while at bush camp during our 40/40 training. Bush camp is nothing more than a tent village. We are sitting around after dinner just chatting with friends. Jan and I decided to turn in and head to our tent. About 15 minutes later I developed this severe pain in my side. I was squirming around trying to find a comfortable position when Jan noticed and asked me “What’s wrong”. I told her about the pain and I was trying to get comfortable.
Maybe I should mention here that while we were sitting around chatting, I was leaned back in my chair supporting myself by holding on to two tent poles. The poles gave way and I went straight back in my chair. Fortunately the tent stayed up even minus two of its supports. It really didn’t hurt and we all got a great laugh (at my expense).
Anyway, I guess we both have this thought in the back of our minds that I’d somehow injured myself in the fall from the chair. Jan decides to go get the camp nurse but I told her to hold on that I was going to walk around a bit and see if it would pass (no pun intended here). I’m walking around outside the tent and almost immediately began re-visiting dinner. I’m beginning to think appendicitis now. One thing I know I don’t want to do is have any type of surgery in a bush hospital in Africa. I’m back in the tent lying down and Jan shows up with the camp nurse, Nurse Janet. She gives her preliminary diagnosis, which is kidney stone. Strangely, I am actually relieved. I’ve known several folks with kidney stones and none of them died or required surgery, just heavy drugs. We, (me, Jan, Nurse Janet, and Mat) crawl in the van and head to the not so nearest hospital. Actually the nearest one is only about fifteen minutes away but the “nice” hospital is about an hour away. We head to the “nice” hospital.
.
In the hour long (which seemed like much longer) trip to the hospital, we make 5 stops because one of us thinks he is about to wet his pants. During this time I’m thinking, can we move a little faster please? Is the hospital we’re headed to on the African continent or are we headed much farther away? This is before I look over at the speedometer and see we’re traveling over 100kph. Keep in mind these are “way out in the sticks African roads”. At 100kph you’re just hitting the high spots.
Well, we finally reach the hospital. I have to admit, when I was told we were headed to the “nice” hospital, this is not what I was expecting. The veterinarian we used back in the states looked to be a step above this. Oh well, we’re here and at this point I’m just hoping they have some horse tranquilizers or something to relieve the pain.
We pile out of the van and head for admissions. We walk through the huge bared gate (not sure if it is to keep folks out or in) onto this long covered walkway. I look down the walkway and here’s the image I have. Have you ever seen an episode of Twilight Zone where the man looks down a corridor and it suddenly grows out to infinity? There appeared to be no end. Anyway, here we go. We start walking to infinity, and possibly beyond (I stole that from Tom Hanks in Toy Story). We are about 20 minutes into our walk (it seemed that way anyway), when we pass a wheelchair. Nurse Janet asks the orderly, janitor, patient, or what ever he is, if we can use the wheelchair. He says yes. Now I’ve never seen a wheelchair quite like this. The seat part of it is tilted back at such an angle that I know, in my condition, I can not possibly jump high enough to mount the thing. Fortunately the guy escorting us flips some levers and it turned into a more conventional looking wheelchair. Unfortunately when the guy worked his magic on the chair, the seat ended up slanting unnoticeably forward. I sit down and off we go. After about another 20 minutes (again it seemed this way) of rolling down this corridor, I am slowly slipping out of the chair. All I can think of is the witch in the Wizard of Oz saying, “I’m melting”. Nurse Janet notices and tells our attendant. He begins stopping but I am not interested in delaying any progress we might be making toward drugs, so I just told him to keep pushing.
We finally reach admitting and there sat the admissions nurse in her little white uniform, sweater draped on her shoulders, with her little paper boat hat sitting on her head. She is casually chatting with another man. Nurse Janet begins frantically asking that I receive some pain medication. The nurse slowly looked up and said “And how are you madam.” Oh yeah, it’s Africa. We conduct no business until we have greeted one another. I don’t care if this man is dyeing.
Much conversation, of which I remember very little, is taking place. I have to pee again. I asked for directions to the toilet. The admissions nurse said, “You can’t go here, you’re in the morgue”. In the morgue! Hold on! I think I'm dying but I’m not there yet! To my delight I find I’ve misunderstood. I’m not in the morgue; I’m in the ladies ward. You can see how one would misunderstand that. I’m now directed to the men’s ward. My new best friend, Mat, leads me through this long L shaped ward of occupied beds lining the walls. There are even men sleeping on the floor. This looks like something you’d see in a WWII movie. I enter the bathroom and….. Here’s where I should explain a squatty potty. It’s basically a hole in the floor for you to hit. A good rule of thumb to follow is never look down a squatty potty hole. Squatty potty etiquette calls for everyone to aim well. Unfortunately not all the previous visitors were aware of squatty potty etiquette. There is a bright spot though. This is one high class squatty potty. It has 2 raised foot shaped concrete pads to stand or squat on, as appropriate. This is a very good thing as it turns out. The floor has about a half inch of liquid on it. Not sure but the smell tells me I don’t want to know anymore. All the while I’m thinking; "Why did I wear sandals? I have shoes. Why did I wear sandals? I hope the sandals have a thick enough soles." Also I start thinking; "f you begin to pass out, be sure to dig your fingers into the concrete walls. You don’t want to hit that floor." I can assure you, with the looks of this floor, my fingers would dig into concrete with no problem at all.
I’m finally admitted to the hospital but there’s another surprise. There are no empty beds. This actually works in my favor though because they decide to put me in a storage room. This storage room contains six “never been used” beds (no sheets) and a private bathroom. This bathroom actually has a porcelain throne. How cool is this!
Oh, back to Nurse Janet. While all of this is going on she’s still frantically asking that I receive pain meds. The nurse finally brings me two Ibuprofen tablets and a cup of water. Fortunately I’m coherent enough to know I can’t drink the water. All I need is some parasite making a home in my digestive system or some bacterial thing growing in me like cauliflower, on top of a kidney stone. I ask Jan to get me some bottled water. I take the Ibuprofen all the while I’m thinking; I take four Ibuprofen when I have a headache. Someone is twisting a red hot knife in my kidney and I’ve got two, not really sure this is going to help very much. Oh well, as it turns out within 2 minutes I toss (literally) the Ibuprofen, and the rest of my dinner, out the second floor window. I’m sure glad no one is below.
Nurse Janet is really on their case for drugs now.
They finally decide to give me some real drugs. A nurse shows up with an IV bag, some happy drugs and, the best part, disposable needles. I’m given the injection and now I’m headed to have an ultrasound. I take a seat in the “never been used” wheelchair that’s in the room with the six “never been used” beds. Nurse Janet begins to push. She exclaims “I can’t move him, are the brakes on?” No, that’s not the problem. This chair has four flat tires. She tilts the chair back so she only has to combat two of the tires as she pushes me. Keep in mind that there is a very delicate balance between making forward progress on two flat tires and me being unconscious when my head slams off of the concrete floor. Fortunately Mat, remember Mat, he’s along for the ride, decides he should take charge of pushing the “balanced on two flat tires” wheelchair.
Things really begin to get fuzzy here. I’m now going to my happy place because the drugs are taking affect. All I know is an Obstetrician has me on a table performing an ultrasound. I’m a little uncomfortable with this wondering if they think I’m pregnant. If he asks me to put my feet in stirrups I’m outta here. I will refuse to have a pelvic exam.
I fall asleep (or passed out) during the ultrasound and all is pretty good now. I wake up back in my private storage room, wondering about that pelvic exam thing. Its about 1:00am and I’m resting pretty comfortably now, except that urge to pee every 15 minutes, so Jan and Nurse Janet head back to bush camp. Mat stays with me. He spends the night sitting in the “four flat tire” wheelchair. Every time I need to pee is such an ordeal. Mat gathers up the IV bag, steadies me, and we’re off to my private bathroom. Finally, morning comes and Jan and Nurse Janet return. Here we go to pee again and Mat decided Jan can take over. He also tells Jan “He likes it if you rub his back while he pees.” Mat has my sense of humor.
It is also at this point that a problem develops with my IV. I think the root of the problem is that the needle in the back of my hand is in the vein, through my wrist, and about halfway up my forearm. I think the needle is a bit too long, or either misplaced. The IV tube fills with blood and a clot forms. Nothing is coming out of the IV. The nurse is working very hard to force the clot out of the tube and into my body. All the while she’s doing this I’m thinking, aren’t blood clots moving through your veins a bad thing? Is she trying to kill me? Blood squirts out all over my hand soaking the tape holding the needle in place. It looks pretty messy. The nurse disappears and comes back a few minutes later with a strip of tape. She decided that the blood is too messy looking so she covers it with more tape so it doesn’t show. Don’t bother replacing it, just cover it up. Outta sight, outtta mind. She never does get the IV flowing again and left.
It’s at this point I realize that the furniture must have been stored in this room for a very long time. I’m thinking Ronald Regan was president when it was stored. I am covered with dust and dirt. Unfortunately I did not know about the dirt part earlier. I’m looking like Pigpen from Peanuts. They now, at my expense, have one clean bed.
Throughout my stay, there is a steady flow of folks wandering in my "PRIVATE" room to see the mazungu (white person). One guy wandered in wearing a lab coat and we ask, "Are you here with the lab results?" To that he responds "No, I'm just here to see the big guy." Obviously they don't see many wazungu (multiple white people) at this hospital.
All in all it went okay because they gave me drugs and ran some IVs through me. To my delight, it is all done with disposable needles (This is not always the case in Africa). I'm really not sure if I’ve ever actually passed the stone or if it's still in there waiting for the most inopportune moment to rear its ugly head again. I strongly suspect that I haven't passed it because I have not heard a concrete block size bolder hit the toilet yet (Anything that hurt that bad must be huge).
Oh well. I’m alive and it’s fun to look back and laugh. To all my friends who’ve had experience with a stone, or women who’ve given birth to a 10 pound baby, I can now sympathize with you.
This is my (Jeff’s) version of the events of November 7, 2008. Someone else may have a different version but since it’s my kidneys and my stone I consider myself the authoritative source.
Well, we finally reach the hospital. I have to admit, when I was told we were headed to the “nice” hospital, this is not what I was expecting. The veterinarian we used back in the states looked to be a step above this. Oh well, we’re here and at this point I’m just hoping they have some horse tranquilizers or something to relieve the pain.
We pile out of the van and head for admissions. We walk through the huge bared gate (not sure if it is to keep folks out or in) onto this long covered walkway. I look down the walkway and here’s the image I have. Have you ever seen an episode of Twilight Zone where the man looks down a corridor and it suddenly grows out to infinity? There appeared to be no end. Anyway, here we go. We start walking to infinity, and possibly beyond (I stole that from Tom Hanks in Toy Story). We are about 20 minutes into our walk (it seemed that way anyway), when we pass a wheelchair. Nurse Janet asks the orderly, janitor, patient, or what ever he is, if we can use the wheelchair. He says yes. Now I’ve never seen a wheelchair quite like this. The seat part of it is tilted back at such an angle that I know, in my condition, I can not possibly jump high enough to mount the thing. Fortunately the guy escorting us flips some levers and it turned into a more conventional looking wheelchair. Unfortunately when the guy worked his magic on the chair, the seat ended up slanting unnoticeably forward. I sit down and off we go. After about another 20 minutes (again it seemed this way) of rolling down this corridor, I am slowly slipping out of the chair. All I can think of is the witch in the Wizard of Oz saying, “I’m melting”. Nurse Janet notices and tells our attendant. He begins stopping but I am not interested in delaying any progress we might be making toward drugs, so I just told him to keep pushing.
We finally reach admitting and there sat the admissions nurse in her little white uniform, sweater draped on her shoulders, with her little paper boat hat sitting on her head. She is casually chatting with another man. Nurse Janet begins frantically asking that I receive some pain medication. The nurse slowly looked up and said “And how are you madam.” Oh yeah, it’s Africa. We conduct no business until we have greeted one another. I don’t care if this man is dyeing.
Much conversation, of which I remember very little, is taking place. I have to pee again. I asked for directions to the toilet. The admissions nurse said, “You can’t go here, you’re in the morgue”. In the morgue! Hold on! I think I'm dying but I’m not there yet! To my delight I find I’ve misunderstood. I’m not in the morgue; I’m in the ladies ward. You can see how one would misunderstand that. I’m now directed to the men’s ward. My new best friend, Mat, leads me through this long L shaped ward of occupied beds lining the walls. There are even men sleeping on the floor. This looks like something you’d see in a WWII movie. I enter the bathroom and….. Here’s where I should explain a squatty potty. It’s basically a hole in the floor for you to hit. A good rule of thumb to follow is never look down a squatty potty hole. Squatty potty etiquette calls for everyone to aim well. Unfortunately not all the previous visitors were aware of squatty potty etiquette. There is a bright spot though. This is one high class squatty potty. It has 2 raised foot shaped concrete pads to stand or squat on, as appropriate. This is a very good thing as it turns out. The floor has about a half inch of liquid on it. Not sure but the smell tells me I don’t want to know anymore. All the while I’m thinking; "Why did I wear sandals? I have shoes. Why did I wear sandals? I hope the sandals have a thick enough soles." Also I start thinking; "f you begin to pass out, be sure to dig your fingers into the concrete walls. You don’t want to hit that floor." I can assure you, with the looks of this floor, my fingers would dig into concrete with no problem at all.
I’m finally admitted to the hospital but there’s another surprise. There are no empty beds. This actually works in my favor though because they decide to put me in a storage room. This storage room contains six “never been used” beds (no sheets) and a private bathroom. This bathroom actually has a porcelain throne. How cool is this!
Oh, back to Nurse Janet. While all of this is going on she’s still frantically asking that I receive pain meds. The nurse finally brings me two Ibuprofen tablets and a cup of water. Fortunately I’m coherent enough to know I can’t drink the water. All I need is some parasite making a home in my digestive system or some bacterial thing growing in me like cauliflower, on top of a kidney stone. I ask Jan to get me some bottled water. I take the Ibuprofen all the while I’m thinking; I take four Ibuprofen when I have a headache. Someone is twisting a red hot knife in my kidney and I’ve got two, not really sure this is going to help very much. Oh well, as it turns out within 2 minutes I toss (literally) the Ibuprofen, and the rest of my dinner, out the second floor window. I’m sure glad no one is below.
Nurse Janet is really on their case for drugs now.
They finally decide to give me some real drugs. A nurse shows up with an IV bag, some happy drugs and, the best part, disposable needles. I’m given the injection and now I’m headed to have an ultrasound. I take a seat in the “never been used” wheelchair that’s in the room with the six “never been used” beds. Nurse Janet begins to push. She exclaims “I can’t move him, are the brakes on?” No, that’s not the problem. This chair has four flat tires. She tilts the chair back so she only has to combat two of the tires as she pushes me. Keep in mind that there is a very delicate balance between making forward progress on two flat tires and me being unconscious when my head slams off of the concrete floor. Fortunately Mat, remember Mat, he’s along for the ride, decides he should take charge of pushing the “balanced on two flat tires” wheelchair.
Things really begin to get fuzzy here. I’m now going to my happy place because the drugs are taking affect. All I know is an Obstetrician has me on a table performing an ultrasound. I’m a little uncomfortable with this wondering if they think I’m pregnant. If he asks me to put my feet in stirrups I’m outta here. I will refuse to have a pelvic exam.
I fall asleep (or passed out) during the ultrasound and all is pretty good now. I wake up back in my private storage room, wondering about that pelvic exam thing. Its about 1:00am and I’m resting pretty comfortably now, except that urge to pee every 15 minutes, so Jan and Nurse Janet head back to bush camp. Mat stays with me. He spends the night sitting in the “four flat tire” wheelchair. Every time I need to pee is such an ordeal. Mat gathers up the IV bag, steadies me, and we’re off to my private bathroom. Finally, morning comes and Jan and Nurse Janet return. Here we go to pee again and Mat decided Jan can take over. He also tells Jan “He likes it if you rub his back while he pees.” Mat has my sense of humor.
It is also at this point that a problem develops with my IV. I think the root of the problem is that the needle in the back of my hand is in the vein, through my wrist, and about halfway up my forearm. I think the needle is a bit too long, or either misplaced. The IV tube fills with blood and a clot forms. Nothing is coming out of the IV. The nurse is working very hard to force the clot out of the tube and into my body. All the while she’s doing this I’m thinking, aren’t blood clots moving through your veins a bad thing? Is she trying to kill me? Blood squirts out all over my hand soaking the tape holding the needle in place. It looks pretty messy. The nurse disappears and comes back a few minutes later with a strip of tape. She decided that the blood is too messy looking so she covers it with more tape so it doesn’t show. Don’t bother replacing it, just cover it up. Outta sight, outtta mind. She never does get the IV flowing again and left.
It’s at this point I realize that the furniture must have been stored in this room for a very long time. I’m thinking Ronald Regan was president when it was stored. I am covered with dust and dirt. Unfortunately I did not know about the dirt part earlier. I’m looking like Pigpen from Peanuts. They now, at my expense, have one clean bed.
Throughout my stay, there is a steady flow of folks wandering in my "PRIVATE" room to see the mazungu (white person). One guy wandered in wearing a lab coat and we ask, "Are you here with the lab results?" To that he responds "No, I'm just here to see the big guy." Obviously they don't see many wazungu (multiple white people) at this hospital.
All in all it went okay because they gave me drugs and ran some IVs through me. To my delight, it is all done with disposable needles (This is not always the case in Africa). I'm really not sure if I’ve ever actually passed the stone or if it's still in there waiting for the most inopportune moment to rear its ugly head again. I strongly suspect that I haven't passed it because I have not heard a concrete block size bolder hit the toilet yet (Anything that hurt that bad must be huge).
Oh well. I’m alive and it’s fun to look back and laugh. To all my friends who’ve had experience with a stone, or women who’ve given birth to a 10 pound baby, I can now sympathize with you.
This is my (Jeff’s) version of the events of November 7, 2008. Someone else may have a different version but since it’s my kidneys and my stone I consider myself the authoritative source.
Oh, as a foot note here, we visited the nearest hospital in Petauke on Wednesday and it was confirmed that we made the correct decision to head to the “nice” hospital. We visited the British, Indian doctor on staff and he said they wouldn’t have been able to help me. We then visited the clinic in town and the doctor there told me my problem was my mattress. My mattress! Is he kidding! Nope, he was very adamant that I should change my mattress. We slowly backed out of the clinic.
3 comments:
Best. Story. Ever.
Chris is working very hard on his Portuguese sermon for Sunday and I am over here at the computer trying to be quiet as I laugh with tears coming down my face. Oh, I know it was terrible but what a great story! I don't think I ever got to hear the full version. Thanks for recording it!
Jeff - keep on laughing man - Life is no fun without people like you!
I pray right now that the Lord will continuosly build a hedge of protection around you and Jan with his Angels and protect you from Satan and his influece and the many dangers associated with your ministry. I know ya'll are trusting in the Lord - so keep on keeping on. Nike says - just do it. Hang in there! Happy New Year! Psalms 37:3-7 Jack Muirhead
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