In my five years as a General Practitioner and four years as an Anesthesiologist, I have witnessed and participated in hundreds of CPRs on patients. However, the one I took part in five days ago was entirely different. It was completely different because the patient in front of me was my FATHER. My own father.
Some might ask why I participated in such a CPR when I was emotionally involved. But rest assured, if you ask this question, it’s because you might not have worked as a healthcare professional in The Gambia.
At 1 PM, the old man’s condition didn’t look good. He needed higher-level management, either in an HDU or an ICU bed for a multidisciplinary approach. My efforts were unsuccessful because there is only one quasi-functional ICU in Jollof with a small bed capacity. I was unable to secure him a bed, knowing that with his condition, he wouldn’t make it the next 24 hours without intervention.
I was desperate. I made multiple calls, but there were no better options. As an MD, I totally knew what he was feeling. I sat on his wrecked hospital bed trying to comfort him while he whispered to me, “Why can’t you give me more medications or bring your machine to check my body? I have generalized malaise.” His pleas made me visit the bathroom very often just to wash my face to avoid my brothers noticing my tears. I wished I wasn’t a doctor at that moment because I would have preferred not knowing what was happening, just like any close relative who was with him.
A few hours after being unable to secure him an ICU bed, he had a cardiac arrest. We initiated the coding protocol, and after a few minutes, we had a ROSC (Return of Spontaneous Circulation). I requested the medication that might prevent him from having a second arrest, but it wasn’t available. I requested the second option to that medication, but it wasn’t available either. Then, as expected, a second wave of arrest came with a cardiac rhythm compatible with Ventricular Fibrillation. But guess what? No defibrillator was within reachable distance. This isn’t a movie but reality. I didn’t even intend to intubate because there was no effective device to connect him to.
He succumbed to his condition, secondary to a failed healthcare system that has been in existence since independence. We could have done more for him, but he was unfortunate to find himself in a country that prioritizes everything except the health of its residents.
As an escort, I didn’t get the privilege of being told that they did everything possible to help rescue my dad because I was part of those doing the impossible. I’m not angry at the doctors or nurses because they feel the same as I do. They happen to work for a failed health system.
May Allah forgive his shortcomings and grant him the highest of paradise.
“Dohali yallah” they concluded
Alieu Newton
