Skip to main content

Diaries of a nurse: Gynecology


July 24th


I was moved unfortunately from the ER to the gynecology and obstetrics sections and oh boy was I disappointed. As soon as I set foot there I was given paperwork to fill out and we all know how boring that can be, so I got the worst first impression. The nurse who was in charge of the section Sister Shahinaz was the sweetest, kindest, most giving nurse I came across. She honestly taught me so much and for that I am eternally grateful. I changed sections with a fear of cannulas which she helped me overcome. So, a few days into the section she told me to go get a patient from the OT, I obliged and went. As soon as I arrived, I felt a cool air striking me, and my heart ached when I saw her there lying in fetal position, so vulnerable, so fragile. Almost a dead body on her side, on the cold, unsteady bed and that devil-like surgical nurse standing like a tyrant above her frail torso. Yelling at us to hurry up and transfer her to the other bed to move her back to her room. The bed we were pushing was out of shape, pre-historical. The kind that squeaks like a rusty old swing and the wheels were moving left and right, all the while that nurse was yelling at us to hurry up and take the woman from the bed. We took her and thank the lord for the power of being drugged -or maybe not- she was thrown like a sack of rotten potatoes onto our bed. Slowly, gently we tried to push the bed and the guard yelled at us to hurry up and to inform our supervising nurse that he doesn’t want “trainees” to take anymore patients from the OT. It was as if the problem was us not him, not the fact he was a criminal dressed in scrubs.

We went back to the Gynecology section and suddenly a few hours later I was handed a jar that held the poor woman’s Uterus and Cervix. I felt sick holding it as it floated in the yellowish water, I was asked to hand it to the family and I would have rather died. I obliged and held that Uterus, entered the room, took a breath, and handed it to her mother. She took it from my hand and began unscrewing the bottle and my stomach flipped. I urged her not to open it just to send it to the labs and she said ok and shoved it in a nearby closet. I thought the craziest thing one might find in a closet is a sandwich little did I know that you could find a good old Uterus and Cervix.

The days passed by and the woman who went through the surgery was awake and I got the chance to speak with her. We chatted for a bit then I asked her if she could remember anything from the surgery and I was shocked by the answer; “Yes”. I waited a second and asked her what she remembered exactly and she said; “their voices, I could hear them speaking but couldn’t see them or speak back.” I stood quietly, feeling broken, not just for her but for every Yemeni. An entire nation who have never had the right to file a complaint or to open a case against these criminals. There’s this untold motto; if it’s a public hospital it’s valid to be treated like you’re a worthless being, as if you are some sort of burden on this society.

The woman was in so much pain that every morning I’d hope to show up and she was already discharged. All I remember was her constantly puking and her urine drainage bag having been incorrectly inserted. It was truly a painful case to watch, one of the cases that to this day repeat vividly in my mind from the moment I first met her in the OT till the day she started to gain back her strength and to speak with a hint of hope for a better tomorrow.



Comments

  1. This is so heart breaking. Love and prayers from the U.S. You're such a blessing to the people in that hospital.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Journey of Blissful Pain; The Prisoner Release Arrangement

Her tears were enough to reignite the flames of my rage, a fragile soul made of roses and daisies in such pain, unable to connect the dots between this man and the dad she knows from worn out photographs her mother keeps in the top drawer of her dresser that is slowly falling apart, she gazes into her father's eyes and it finally clicks that this is her dad, the man in the picture is real, this is the very first time she set her big, brown eyes on her dad, and she breaks down into showers of tear turning her face from pale to scarlet, filling every inch of her body with inexperienced joy. The mothers falling to their knees, eyes clouded with tears in complete denial that this day has finally shined upon them, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and she patiently waits holding on by her faith in God, she sees her son and breaks down, he might be injured and his legs are at the brink of being amputated, but in that moment nothing matters but him, he is h

Eight years later; the story goes on

The silence is frightening, like the calm before the storm. I am so used to their sounds, their thunders, now all I hear are my thoughts. As I wait for the silence to pass, this calm is now the unknown. I hear the airplanes passing and I can't help but shiver reminiscing when it all started eight years ago, when all I knew was silence that was cut off, always in a sudden, to hear a speeding warcraft above my head about to take away the lives of tens of people at once in a matter of seconds. How can I justify or explain to myself that these are not war crafts these are airplanes, the airplanes that used to sound so natural to me. The airplane that little children would wave at just eight years ago, those same children are teenagers now, and the children today would never wave at an airplane because it never is an airplane, it is always a hovering, killing machine about to take out little kids just like them. Times change and although there is a truce there is no serenity, just the f

Steed Sorrow

In her eyes I saw pain, I saw the feeling of helplessness that I have seen too many times before. In her eyes were wails and screams, the image of a broken soul. She stood so tall yet so frail like the slightest breeze of air could shatter her to pieces. Her bloody body standing above her little one with nothing to do but to accept the pain and to dwell in the sorrow.   Wars are never easy and the losses are never predictable, the only thing guaranteed is pain. Over 1800 days have passed and the only thing that has been stable is the pain. The only constant in our lives is pain. These horses were more than just animals to us Yemenis, these Arabian horses resembled both nobility and courage which are the two components Yemenis are made of. In the past fifty years Yemenis were portrayed and conveyed as savage illiterates who have no morals, all of which are false allegations. In the past five years I have got to know my people because nothing brings people closer together than commo