Mythbuster

Sometimes we sit at the ETC and muse about what we'll tell our families about that particular day or week. As in, "What's the good, vague part of the last few days that won't freak anybody out?" (Just kidding...) And sometimes our epidemiologist sits at her desk listening to us talk and laments over how she would love to write down some of the things we say, but no one else would understand. Medical humor, I suppose. This is my lead-in to how I don't know what to post again, but I sometimes get panicky texts/emails/whats app messages if I go too long without writing.

We had a bit of a theme over the last few days: pregnant patients. Ebola is somewhat famous for it's treatment of this type of patient. I tested a story out on a friend the other morning, and we determined it wouldn't do for the blog. So in honor of said friend's love of psychology, and in honor of the abundance of social workers in my life, I dedicate this post to our Psychosocial department.

If you were to visit our ETC, you'd see Psychosocial around, but you'd only be able to pick them out because they have weird scrubs (think 60s...). I've often said that my housemate, Anna, is the most overworked and under-appreciated person at the ETC. As a nurse, I have the glamorous job (so to speak...as some may not consider stepping in 4-5 different body fluids simultaneously glamorous). The medical team gets the most credit. We'll put it that way. But a few days ago, I got to do something new. Anna came into the medical tent looking for a specific chart. The family of a deceased patient was in her tent, and Psychosocial likes to give the family some specifics about the patient's treatment. Since I happened to know the patient's ID number off the top of my head (only because we thought we had a screw up with lab results) and there weren't any doctors around, she asked if I would come speak to the family. I was less than thrilled, but I agreed.

There are a lot of myths and uncertainties surrounding Ebola and treatment centers. Our local doctors were telling us that some Sierra Leoneans still don't believe Ebola is a real thing. Others think that Westerners are at treatment centers poisoning patients. There was one village here where a whole bunch of sick people were just rounded up and taken off to holding centers. Their families didn't hear from them again. Some of these patients ended up at our facility. Two were cured, and on the day of their discharge, Anna went back with them to their village. Basically, she had to read a list of deceased patients while families gathered around to hear if she had any news about their loved one. Her retelling of it reminded me of Gone with the Wind. Anyways, for these reasons and a few more, Psychosocial likes to have one of the medical personnel speak with the family. It kind of helps if the family can see someone who took care of their family member.

As we clunked across the rocks from the medical tent to the family tent, Anna told me what to say. I wasn't sure how much information/detail to give. For this patient in particular, I figured it wouldn't be helpful to say, "Yes, we knew she was pretty sick, but we were all still quite surprised when she died." So, I told them what her symptoms were and how we tried to treat them. Then they asked about this patient's brother-in-law. I remembered the patient, but didn't know that the two had been related. They said that he was the strongest person in their family and they didn't understand how he could have died. I agreed, he was quite strong. That's why he hung on for so long it was almost painful to watch. You knew that he knew he was going to die. I explained how sometimes some patients start bleeding and then there's not much we can do, and I also had to tell them that their brother began refusing to eat. Anna asked them if they had any questions about anything. They said they had two other family members who were sick but didn't come to our ETC and they lived. That makes you feel awesome. But Anna did her thing and explained how there's still a lot people don't know about Ebola, so we do our best but sometimes who lives and who dies just feels like luck. Amen, sister.

As we walked back to the medical tent, I thought to myself how glad I was that I don't have Psychosocial's job. I have to talk to the patients' families for 5 minutes a week. I don't have to tell them that we can't unzip the body bag to let them see their family member one last time (or simply to convince them that it really is their family member). I don't have to tell the lone survivor of a family unit, "I'm so sorry for your loss. Here's a bag of rice." I don't usually see the family once the patient leaves (unless they come back as patients...that was a first last week). So here's to the people in the funny scrubs. Quietly taking care of people. Unless, of course, we're discharging a cured patient. Then they break out the instruments and dance.

On a completely unrelated note, I finally had time to take a few pictures (/steal a few pictures from another nurse). Hopefully this will satisfy some curiosities.

My house!

The main walkway. Triage and wards to the left, "offices", pharmacy, kitchen to the right

The medical tent

Doffing area

Donning

Meds waiting to be passed from low to high risk

Because we can't take pictures in the wards...here's the next best thing to seeing the inside

Two nurses calling the vital signs over the fence to the scribe

Carrie and I wanted to take pictures on our night shift. We can't touch, so this is our Awkward [Ebola] Family Photo

Correction: You are allowed to bump elbows with people. But no high fives, handshakes, or any other touching

Donning in the early morning

Tearing the hole in my hood before the dresser gets to me because I don't like the way they do it

The dresser asked my name, said, "Oh, that's my wife's name!" and then proceeded to spell it incorrectly on my head

The nurse Carrie made responsible for taking pictures was a bit overzealous in his duties and wouldn't let us doff until he got pictures

Sunset outside the Lunsar ETC