The woman won't move. She won't acknowledge anyone or turn her head or blink. She just stays there, nose pressed to the screen door, just outside the maternity ward.
It's 9:30am and the movement of twenty-some-odd patients was supposed to start at 9am. The corridor is being cleaned, after getting its yearly insecticide spraying last night. We'll put 6 beds in there for patient overflow. The rest go up the hill to the new tents. But no patients have been moved yet, and the day's only getting hotter and later.
A police officer arrives to remove the woman. A crowd gathers to see what the disturbance is. I send people around to another entry point. "Please use the IPD gate. IPD gate. IPD gate." No one wants to leave the spectacle unfolding in front of them.
We've got a packed day in front of us. We're finally taking all pediatric general ward patients out of the tents huddled in the center of the hospital's courtyard. This move has been years in the making, after multiple reports of flooding, less-than-ideal placement, and deteriorating tent condition. But we will take advantage of these infamous tents' last week by moving the maternity ward into the tents and applying their yearly insecticide. That's a lot to do in one day.
The policeman taps the woman on the shoulder. She doesn't acknowledge him. He taps harder until he is hitting her. He tugs on her arm, but she shrugs him off. He grabs her clothes and pulls her away, but she struggles free and resumes her vigil.
I was walking in to the hospital when the logistics supervisor intercepted me and explained why he asked a policeman to come. I hadn't noticed a policeman, but was very happy that I had ended up at the hospital at that exact moment. The country electrician had peeled off a moment ago, to go check the loads on the generators, and the construction log ditched me with a sympathetic look. I was on my own to tackle this disturbance.
The policeman wrestles and hits the woman, with everyone looking on. I finally intervene and ask the policeman to leave her alone. My white skin gives me unprecedented authority, and he acquiesces. It's not my hospital, but all of a sudden, I'm making the decisions. He shrugs and retreats, probably happy that he didn't have to see that argument through. The woman had returned to pressing her nose against the gate.
I'm preoccupied thinking about the packed day, which might stretch until 8pm or later, and I've got a lot on my mind. A few minutes before, the co-referent for logistics for the country called to tell me his plane ticket was mixed up, and he's postponed his visit to my project for another few days. Thoughts of the plans in limbo, the projects blocked for technical questions, and the HR support desperately needed all dissolve as he updates me on his schedule. He asked, "anything urgent we need to take care of?" My answer? Well, it's been urgent for the last month, so it can certainly wait two more days. I try not to rock the boat.
I make my way around through another gate to get to the other side of the door that the woman is staring through. I talk to the watchman as the carpenter suddenly appears, to nail the door shut. We call the floating watchman to stand at this door, then go try to track down the supervisor to open the alternate gate that normally leads straight to the Operating Theater. We get the alternate gate open and start directing people through. I catch the eye of the medical referent as the gate swings shut, but we're both on to other things.
Today marks the third week that I've been in this project, but it certainly feels longer. I vaguely remember some experiences from a few weeks ago, but they feel ages ago. We had a water and sanitation specialist come to visit for technical support, and she was here for weeks, but that was years ago. Actually, she came a few days after me, and stayed for a week. How am I going to last six months?
All watchmen are in place, traffic has been directed, and somehow during the disturbance, some patients started moving wards. When I make it into the tent, half the ward is empty already. Excellent. The woman is still standing with her nose pressed to the door. The staff tell me this isn't the first time she's been there, and she's not entirely right in the head.
I catch up with the medical referent, and we game-plan the bed count of the hospital, patient distribution, impact on medical HR, and tent cooling measures we can take. As we wander into the tent to check ambient temperature, the OBGYN comes in to consult on a couple cases. I excuse myself to go find water.
For the rest of the morning, we bustle around moving patients, and by the time we are ready to move maternity, which goes through this woman's door, she's nowhere in sight.
The rest of the day goes smoothly in a whirlwind of moving, dust, sweat, musical beds, and good humor. I get out of my last meeting at 6pm to realize that the spraying has already been done.
Success. The day is done with all objectives met.
Now to do it again tomorrow, with all the surprises and twists that a new day will bring.
It's 9:30am and the movement of twenty-some-odd patients was supposed to start at 9am. The corridor is being cleaned, after getting its yearly insecticide spraying last night. We'll put 6 beds in there for patient overflow. The rest go up the hill to the new tents. But no patients have been moved yet, and the day's only getting hotter and later.
A police officer arrives to remove the woman. A crowd gathers to see what the disturbance is. I send people around to another entry point. "Please use the IPD gate. IPD gate. IPD gate." No one wants to leave the spectacle unfolding in front of them.
We've got a packed day in front of us. We're finally taking all pediatric general ward patients out of the tents huddled in the center of the hospital's courtyard. This move has been years in the making, after multiple reports of flooding, less-than-ideal placement, and deteriorating tent condition. But we will take advantage of these infamous tents' last week by moving the maternity ward into the tents and applying their yearly insecticide. That's a lot to do in one day.
The policeman taps the woman on the shoulder. She doesn't acknowledge him. He taps harder until he is hitting her. He tugs on her arm, but she shrugs him off. He grabs her clothes and pulls her away, but she struggles free and resumes her vigil.
I was walking in to the hospital when the logistics supervisor intercepted me and explained why he asked a policeman to come. I hadn't noticed a policeman, but was very happy that I had ended up at the hospital at that exact moment. The country electrician had peeled off a moment ago, to go check the loads on the generators, and the construction log ditched me with a sympathetic look. I was on my own to tackle this disturbance.
The policeman wrestles and hits the woman, with everyone looking on. I finally intervene and ask the policeman to leave her alone. My white skin gives me unprecedented authority, and he acquiesces. It's not my hospital, but all of a sudden, I'm making the decisions. He shrugs and retreats, probably happy that he didn't have to see that argument through. The woman had returned to pressing her nose against the gate.
I'm preoccupied thinking about the packed day, which might stretch until 8pm or later, and I've got a lot on my mind. A few minutes before, the co-referent for logistics for the country called to tell me his plane ticket was mixed up, and he's postponed his visit to my project for another few days. Thoughts of the plans in limbo, the projects blocked for technical questions, and the HR support desperately needed all dissolve as he updates me on his schedule. He asked, "anything urgent we need to take care of?" My answer? Well, it's been urgent for the last month, so it can certainly wait two more days. I try not to rock the boat.
I make my way around through another gate to get to the other side of the door that the woman is staring through. I talk to the watchman as the carpenter suddenly appears, to nail the door shut. We call the floating watchman to stand at this door, then go try to track down the supervisor to open the alternate gate that normally leads straight to the Operating Theater. We get the alternate gate open and start directing people through. I catch the eye of the medical referent as the gate swings shut, but we're both on to other things.
Today marks the third week that I've been in this project, but it certainly feels longer. I vaguely remember some experiences from a few weeks ago, but they feel ages ago. We had a water and sanitation specialist come to visit for technical support, and she was here for weeks, but that was years ago. Actually, she came a few days after me, and stayed for a week. How am I going to last six months?
All watchmen are in place, traffic has been directed, and somehow during the disturbance, some patients started moving wards. When I make it into the tent, half the ward is empty already. Excellent. The woman is still standing with her nose pressed to the door. The staff tell me this isn't the first time she's been there, and she's not entirely right in the head.
I catch up with the medical referent, and we game-plan the bed count of the hospital, patient distribution, impact on medical HR, and tent cooling measures we can take. As we wander into the tent to check ambient temperature, the OBGYN comes in to consult on a couple cases. I excuse myself to go find water.
For the rest of the morning, we bustle around moving patients, and by the time we are ready to move maternity, which goes through this woman's door, she's nowhere in sight.
The rest of the day goes smoothly in a whirlwind of moving, dust, sweat, musical beds, and good humor. I get out of my last meeting at 6pm to realize that the spraying has already been done.
Success. The day is done with all objectives met.
Now to do it again tomorrow, with all the surprises and twists that a new day will bring.
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