So once again, I had a tough day today. A child died during morning rounds. The Dutch nurse, Miranda, waved me away from rounds to come to the malnourished room. The head nurse had just found the child. We began chest compressions and bagging, but I told them to stop after a minute. It was the first time I have ever called a death before. The boy was 4 years old and only 12kg. He had AIDS and TB, both untreated. The mother began weeping, wailing, and praying. All the other mothers in the room surrounded her. Miranda and I took the body to a private room and prepared him for the mother to see. She wailed so loudly, praying and chanting in Tonga. We stood with her for a long time. The head nurse, a Zambian man, stayed with us as well. I notified the American doctor who was rounding with all the other medical students and doctors. He did not ask which child died. He just told me that the nurses handle it. And they all went right back to rounding. They act as if lives do not matter. But it is not true at all. It matters to the mothers, to the families…they grieve so much. It matters to a few of the staff. The Zambian head nurse at one point slumped against the counter and then hit his head against the wall in frustration, grief, pain, anger, I don’t know. I knew things would be tough here, that I would see children die. But I did not think that the staff, especially the American staff would just not care. My crying count is still at zero. I have not let myself yet, but today it was very close. My favorite patient, Jester, is very sick and will likely not live. I have already decided that for her, I will cry.
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