Go together well

On Valentine’s Day, as I was walking back toward the hospital after buying a Coke from the Red Cross canteen (a little shop adjacent to the hospital “car park” where they sell snacks, soft drinks, and sadza ), a man about my age walked briskly toward me, saying, “Hi doc, I’m sorry to interrupt you but can I ask a personal question?” My mind jumped to: where’s the rash? Instead, he continued, “It’s about my wife. She was admitted to the labour ward for an induction today, but now they’re sending her back to the antepartum ward because she isn’t having contractions.” (The labour ward has a strict no visitors policy, which also means no husbands.Throughout the rest of the hospital, visitors are only allowed for two hour-long periods each day.)  He went on to tell me about the recent course of his wife’s pregnancy, and I was becoming curious about what the “personal question” would be. After a few minutes, he asked simply, “Do you think she’ll be okay? Do you think the baby will be ...

After a couple of weeks of rounds with "the Zvandasara firm" (they refer to teams of doctors as firms, which makes me feel like I'm in a John Grisham novel) and delivering babies with the midwives, Dave and I are hitting our stride and understanding (at least at a basic level) how things work here. We continue to be amazed by the number of babies born at Harare Central Hospital every single day, and we are relishing the opportunities and experiences we’re gaining. {Me with a baby I just delivered and dressed in a very warm outfit!} Although it is no surprise that there is significant poverty in Zimbabwe (after all, it is a developing nation ), I have been struck by the dramatic ways in which the scarcity of jobs and resources affect people’s health. A recurring theme in gynecology clinic is: woman diagnosed with cancer (or probable cancer) a year ago, did not have the recommended treatment at that time because of inability to pay for it, now returning after havi...

It’s been a week since we (my fellow UVM resident, Dave, and I) arrived via a bumpy landing at Harare International Airport to start a month-long obstetrics rotation at one of Zimbabwe’s tertiary medical centers. At times cautiously navigating a foreign system and at others readily integrating into seemingly universal medical practices (daily rounds, admissions, systematic gathering of patient data), we are learning that being a doctor in Zimbabwe is in some ways unrecognizably distinct and in others comfortable, familiar.  Before I go further, I want to clarify something: throughout my preparations for this trip, I received a lot of undue praise from friends, family, and patients about how great it is that I would travel to Zimbabwe for a "medical trip," with the assumption being that I am somehow going to accomplish something great or to "save" people from death or illness. While I would love to be able to end vertical HIV transmission or to vaccinate eve...