Op-Ed: I Visited a South African Provincial Hospital, and the Horror Stories Are True

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The horror stories we hear about these hospitals are horrendous, with doctors working long hours to attend the patients. Apparently Saturday nights are the worst. At a loose end, I decided to visit a provincial hospital to see for myself, thinking perhaps I could get a good story for Digital Journal. I never anticipated the following story.

I did not go to the busiest hospital, but rather chose one which is just a few miles away and in a safe area. It was a Saturday afternoon and I expected the waiting room to be overflowing with patients. I was quite surprised to see only a few people waiting to see a doctor. The receptionist offered to help me. I told her I was just waiting for someone, which she accepted. A lie I know, but at least it didn't harm anyone. I sat down in one of the many rows of chairs, indicating that they do often get full. The waiting area seemed to be quite clean, but could have been cleaner. Doctors were walking around, seemingly, in no hurry at all. Three doctors and a few nurses were busy with three patients in casualty. They were minor injuries, including one very drunk man who needed about three stitches in a tiny cut.

Then the drama started. A young teenage girl came rushing in, pushing her father, who was obviously very ill, in a wheel chair. She went to the reception and explained, her father had been stung by a swarm of bees, and was having a bad reaction. She was told to wait over 'there'. She started crying in great distress, and told me it was the first time her father had been stung by bees, but he seemed to be allergic. I asked the 'patient' how he felt, and between gasps of breath, informed me he was struggling to breath. His face and arms had started to swell too.

My "Mother Theresa" instinct was immediately activated. I asked the head sister if a doctor could treat him immediately, as he was really struggling. Well, if anyone ever made me feel invisible it was this nurse. She seemed to look straight through me. I asked another nurse. She replied, he would have to wait his turn. At least this woman could see me. I wasn't invisible after all.

Meanwhile the gent in question had started to change colour and his daughter was inconsolable. I peeked behind the curtain into the casualty room, where there were still three people being treated. The drunk was being a flaming nuisance and carrying on like his hand was hanging from a thread. The doctor had still not started to stitch him up, (he had all the time in the world) and anyway, an elastoplast would probably have done the trick, along with a sedative to shut him up. I looked over at the guy in the wheelchair. It really looked like he was going to pass out.

I done the unthinkable and crossed the red line, and entered the casualty area. Suddenly everyone woke up. Hey! A chorus shouted, you're not allowed in here - yes I know, I calmly replied, but there is guy out there who has been stung by a swarm of bees. It seems he is allergic, I think he might be dying. I was told he would have to wait and I would have to leave.

It was at that point "Mother Theresa" left my personality, and I turned into a raving lunatic. I raised my voice very loudly (something I rarely do in public) and asked them if they had been taught to prioritise. "Let the guy who needs stitches wait. Let the woman who has a cold wait, and treat the man that could be dying." The doctor very arrogantly asked me, "Do you know who I am". Well whoopy twang, you flippin idiot, "you're supposed to be a doctor, but you are about to let a man die in the waiting room. What happened to the hippocratic oath - or didn't you study that." I thought that doctor was going to punch me. But at least he went to into the waiting room, saw the patient briefly, and ordered an antihistamine injection, which helped, but he could have used some oxygen too. Fortunately, his wife arrived with an ambulance and paramedics to take him to a private clinic. The paramedics started treating him immediately, and when he left the provincial hospital he did look a little better. Luckily for him, he had a medical aid, but his daughter, panicking, on seeing how ill her father was took him to the closest hospital, where she thought he would get the necessary help quicker.

As for me, did I stick around a little longer, waiting for another story. No-ways. I was completely stressed out by this incident, and anyway, I wanted to get out before the 'good' doctor started using me as a dart board with injections filled with an undesirable liquid.