As I sat in my wheelchair pondering why God would have me going through all
that drama, my friend finally returned.
She had received information that there were two shootings and one person
succumbed to his injuries. This was not
a surprise occurrence at this hospital and gunshot wounds were at the top of
every other injury, red card or not. I
was actually shocked to see that not long after, I was called into see my
second doctor for the evening.
To my amazement, I was been examined by another foreign doctor.
Since I had a bit more pain relief than my first earlier encounter with the
other Asian physician, I asked this medical practitioner where he was
from. He responded Burma and apparently
there are more Burmese doctors on the island. Wow!!! I was starting to feeling
like I was at a United Nations hospital. He also said that he enjoyed working
in Jamaica.
My doctor from far over the seas asked for the paper with my vital
signs. There was none. The nurses must have been so put off by my
excruciating pain that they forgot to check my blood pressure. This amiable doctor sought to rectify the
situation by then taking my blood pressure. He held a large needle in between
his fingers and positioned it to target one of my veins. I protested, but he
said he had to put the needle in if they were going to give me medicine to
knock me out. I quickly gave him my hand
and told him to stick on as he smiled.
He took my blood, so I tried to get him to do every test possible on it. Since I was at the hospital, I figured I
would get everything done all at once and kill two birds with one stone. Unfortunately, he said it was not necessary
and escorted me in the direction of the x-ray room as my friend pushed me
forward to meet the orthopedic doctor. On the way over I passed by one of the
shooting victims. He was also in a wheelchair covered in blood with his head
wrapped in a bandage.
The third doctor did not take long to come. This time I had a Jamaican doctor, but I was
skeptical as he had a weird sounding last name.
He told me, however, that his grandfather was a Maroon from St. Mary. We followed him into another examination room,
but the bed was without a clean sheet. I offered him my beach towel, but he
said that would not work.
 |
My new Canadian friend's wrap was my makeshift sling
as I sat in the wheelchair with my beach towel |
He asked me to stand up,
but that just didn’t feel right. That meant more pain. Gingerly, I
tapped the floor with my feet, as if I were checking to feel if it were
quicksand, knowing I had to cross it. But, at that point, I couldn’t
cross it. I winced in pain, the doctor asked, “What’s wrong with your
feet?” I responded that each move was agony and that I needed help.
He came over to my right side and put his hand under my arms, as he attempted
to raise me off the wheelchair. “Ow!!! Ow!!! Ow!!!” was the only
sound that spurted out my lips. My poor Jamaican doctor thought that I
was giving him canine calls and backed off as that was the same manner in which
his daughter called the dog. I inquired if there was another sounding yelp he
would prefer, but he responded in the negative, then commanded me to get on my
feet by the time he came from his search for the scarce clean sheet.
My faithful friend came
over and helped me up. It was quite a task. However, I did it before the
doctor returned with sheet in hand. Laboriously, I was helped onto the
now covered bed by my friend and the doctor. Mission accomplished, but where
were the pillows? No pillows…Ugggh…I was hoping for a pillow to prop my
arm. The bed was made out of what seemed like a wooden box with a sponge
wrapped in a synthetic type material. It was a bit old – at least a couple
decades.
My new physician tried
to calm me down in order to get my shoulder back in place without administering
more drugs. He advised me to drink tap water to get calcium rather than taking
tablets. He also asked if I ate greens. Greens... yuk!!! Nevertheless, if
greens would keep my shoulders in place, no matter the color, I would eat it. And, he also stated that mustard greens were really
good. Now, my faith as small as a mustard seed was dwindling and I wasn’t
worried about any mountains moving as I just wanted my shoulder back where it
was when I first went to the beach earlier that day.
Knowing I was still not
relaxed, my persistent, yet patient doctor told me God would still love me if I
had a child out of wedlock. What? I guess he, along with many others, feel
I am running out of time. The thought was not very comforting. It
may just be me, but somehow, I prefer to be married first. Although, it may
just be me or I may be in the minority as nearly 90% of babies are born out of
wedlock in Jamaica.
Okay, so my Jamaican doctor tried many more techniques in attempts
to make me relax. It was too late. I was beyond relaxation, after enduring all
that pain from being injured on the beach, I just wanted to be knocked
out. He reasoned with me that later on
in life I would be affected from the drugs that would put me to sleep. My friend agreed, but what they both seemed
to forget is that none of us is promised tomorrow and I needed to go under that
day so that my shoulders could be put back together again.
At last, my doctor acquiesced, and he was about to give me the
much needed shot to put me to sleep. I
looked in his hand and knew from experience that what he was about to give me
was not enough to knock me out. I may be little, but I tallawah. I told him
that was less than the amount necessary and he inquired how much I would
prescribe for myself. I detected a smidgeon
of a sarcastic tone, but I was serious, that wasn’t going to do it and it
didn’t.
Not long after, the doctor brought in reinforcement. Another doctor came in and I think he too was
Jamaican. This new doctor proceeded to
drag my body in one direction, while the other yanked my arm in the other.
Usually, I try not to scream when I am in pain to create a façade of dignity.
However, with more pain than I could bear, I became undignified and I screamed,
not caring who would hear. I may have raised the dead. My legs pushed off and
somehow I separated the bed. I heard pain from a dislocated shoulder is worse
than the pain mothers undergo during childbirth. I begged the doctor to let go
of my arm. I believe not wanting to cause me more pain, he brought in another
doctor with what seemed to be a Spanish accent.
This fifth doctor dressed in calming blue said I needed to be
administered another dose of medicine.
Yes, the wisdom of the doctor in blue won out and the next thing I knew
I was sitting groggily in my wheelchair as my Jamaican orthopedic specialist examined
my x-rays taken after they had put my shoulder back in its socket. I didn’t
remember taking x-rays or getting my shoulder in place. My arm was being supported by what looked
like a gauze bandage. I guess they had no slings.
My friend called our angelic lifeguard who came back for us and drove
us to the hotel. The trauma was over.
However, as I eat my greens and drink tap water, I know this
experience was not just about me. I know
that God wanted me to be exposed to what many underprivileged Jamaicans deal
with in public hospitals. Although I was in agony, I can still remember the
looks of frustration and hopelessness on many faces.
I was blessed to have a friend who stood by me through it all, a
new Canadian friend who was so kind to me, an amazing lifeguard along with his
colleague and a helpful medic. But, what
about those who are not so fortunate? Although the medical personnel is there
to help, they still feel alone.
The nurses and doctors do their best with what they have, but they
are working with little. They too must feel frustrated and hopeless at times.
I have learned from this situation that medicine administered today,
could affect me later on. Please pray about this with me, so that I do not have
the predicted bad side effects. I
believe there is power in prayer. The Jamaican healthcare system also needs a
lot of prayer, along with some action, as it is already feeling the effects of
our trained nurses going abroad to find better opportunities for theirs and
their family’s future, which in turn leaves the future of our health sector in
uncertainty. The lack of resources is another big problem. If one part of the body is dislocated, other
parts of the body hurt as well. Until we
get healthcare where it should be in Jamaica, other sectors in the nation will
also feel the consequences.
If we all put our heads, hands and hearts together we can make a
change for Cornwall Regional Hospital and other public hospitals in Jamaica.
This will subsequently be of great advantage to the lives of our needy brothers
and sisters who are being treated at these facilities, along with those who
treat them.
I am thankful for the many who helped to put my shoulder back in
place, now I can stretch my arm to lend a helping hand. Will you?
