I ESCAPED, BY A WHISKER! Most Kenyans agree on one thing: they can’t stand the smell of a public hospital. The wards have a smell so distinct, so pungent, it might as well be patented as the UltraPublic Hospital 2.0 scent for all ages and sexes. Yet, as a doctor, that smell is part of my daily story. Doctors’ nostrils undergo something akin to mutation, till they longer notice that smell. Does that matter? Doctors endure the stench of sputum, urine, sweat, stale food, rusted beds, and moldy walls to serve the poor masses who can’t afford private hospitals. Doctors have to burrow their way between cracking doors, falling ceilings, rat-infested wards, and ghost-like curtains from the 1958. Even where improvements are being made, it seems the greater good goes to the pockets awarded tenders. So, that night, I almost lost my life. I was on call. That means, I was expected to stay awake, all night, sorting out this and that patient, this and that emergency, with no hope whatsoever of any sleep. All this with no hope of refreshments (the tea served in these hospitals can kill cockroaches and suffocate mosquitoes). No hope for a decent meal (the smell of the food is bad enough to electrocute you before you taste it). No hope of decent nap (the room you are expected to nap in has cracked window-panes, mounted on windows whose hinges shriek louder than Rongai matatu’s emergency breaks, and the cockroaches and bed-bugs have an ongoing collabo in the crevices of the bed). I needed to rest, but I couldn’t sleep in the hospital. This was night three. In other words, I hadn’t slept a wink, for more than 60 hours! That night, I requested a colleague to cover a few hours for me. I went to grab a nap in my bed. I overslept. There was an emergency in the hospital. My colleague was overwhelmed. The hospital called. I was too deep asleep to hear. They called again. Again. And again. They gave up. After hours, I stirred up awake. I saw the million missed calls. I rushed out of the house. Lab-coat at hand. I belted out of the residential compound. I ran up along the road. My head thumping. My heart pounding. My breath heaving with difficulty. My body stiffened from sleep and fatigue… and the sound of footsteps crunching on dry leaves on the opposite side of the road. “Simama!” I heard the curt command. But my brain didn’t register what it meant. I ran on. One thing on my mind. They need me 100 meters further ahead. Two or three bodies leaped with a thud onto the tarmac and started beating a tattoo as they ran behind me. My energy was down to a thread but I struggled on. My feet heavy. In my rush, I had forgotten to put on socks. So the sweat from my feet caused my soles to slide with each step, and my big toe to glide against the tip of the shoe. The harder I strode, the more painful it became. But the rankly footsteps clonking a few meters behind me jolted my body enough to keep edging closer to the hospital gate. Twenty meters to go. Fifteen. I heard a deafening crackle accompanied by a crimson flash. I heard voices shouting, but I didn’t hear what they said. Ten meters. The thumping on the tarmac behind me persisted, even closer now. Five meters. Finally, I slid thro the hospital gate like a gazelle thro a boulder-slit that blocks the lion’s advance. I don’t know how much further in I ran before I collapsed, nothing more remaining to give… except the will to breath on. Therefore Mr President, when I hear the words “Innocent patients”, I am left wondering: What about the innocent doctors? What about the innocent doctors who have lost their lives at night serving patients? What about doctors who sacrifice most of their youth acquiring skills that are the backbone of an under-resourced, under-valued, and under-prioritized health sector? What about the doctors who were civil enough to sign a CBA with the government only for the government to renege on its rightful duty? Yes there’s a stalemate, with three parties involved. On one hand, innocent patients; they need services. On the other, innocent doctors; they only wish to see justice done, their rights upheld. Make no mistake. This is not a strike. This is the culmination into UNSHAKABLE RESOLVE after decades of frustration. The third part, and the one whose actions meets the needs of both the patients and the doctors, is GOVERNMENT. The government is not being asked to pay some fake tender, no. Simply, to honor legal document. Implement the CBA and backdate it to the dates it was signed. Please don’t pay all the way back to 2008, we will not accept that. 2013. That’s it. #LipaKamaTende
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