I gave birth to my beautiful baby girl sometime in December 2019. I named her Kairos which is a Greek term for God’s opportune time, because we didn’t expect her to come too soon. Personally, at the time of conception, I was getting ready to go back to work after two years of being a stay-at-home mum raising my first-born daughter. Already my finances were strained, and the arrival of another blessing, to me at the time, meant that times are going to be more difficult.
The father worked in another town, and as we were making our birth plan I was the custodian for the hospital bill just in case of an emergency. I thought I could outsmart everyone, so I decided instead of paying a huge medical bill just to deliver, I would rather look for a cheaper hospital and save the money to start a business.
I found one that would cater for all maternity expenses as long as my National Health Insurance Fund is up to date! It worked out well until I noticed that my daughter was producing some queer sounds specially when agitated. It mostly happened when she was crying or very active. It was a snort sound and when she produced it, I could feel sound vibrations from her back.
This worried me silly! I could not imagine being blamed for my cheap skate ways to the extent of exposing my daughter to inexpensive medical services that caused her a serious medical condition that could have been avoided. Though I need to clarify that the hospital staff were friendly, and competent but my paranoia could not shake the feeling that they could have been an incident of negligence that caused my daughter to develop such breathing.
I discussed the issue with the father, and we agreed to wait until after Christmas to take the child to hospital. Believe me that the two-day waiting period was the longest and most terrifying time of my life. So when I finally got the chance to take her to see a doctor, I seized the opportunity like my life depended on it.
This time round I decided to not joke around with her health in the name of saving, so I took her to Kenyatta National Hospital private wing. I arrived at around 9 o’clock in the morning, it seemed like sickness also takes a break to celebrate the festivities. The place was almost deserted aside from a few staff and patients. After running around looking for a pediatrician, I was informed that there was only one pediatrician who will be available from noon.
“Is there another option? I didn’t want to wait that long,” I asked the secretary impatiently.
The secretary seemed to be full of herself despite her poor choice of dressing. But then her dressing is her choice!
“The only option is to go to the pediatric wing at the main hospital,” she replied little care.
“Are you sure I’ll find a doctor, because judging from this place, it seems like they have all taken a break,” I probed.
“Try your luck, I think you might find the resident pediatrician,” she replied.
I left promising her to return in case I don’t receive help from the other side.
The pediatric wing to the main hospital was a different scenario, in short, it was a beehive of activities. I had been treated at public hospitals before, and there services were superb, so I anticipated the same service here.
I got to the triage, and the nurse she takes records of the child and myself in addition to her vital signs.
“What is the problem?” she asks.
“The baby has breathing issues,” I respond and further explain my predicaments.
“Undress her so that I can see her chest,” she says.
I start to peel of her baby blanket and shawl, before the nurse stops me. She only wants to see her chest. So we unbutton her onesie and she peeps through her body suit and vest.
“There is nothing wrong with this child, if she had breathing problems the first thing I would notice was her skin color or she would have a deep rhythmic dents on her chest cavity while breathing,” she says “But just see the doctor incase of anything.” she adds.
The guilt burden begins to get lighter. But I must see the doctor so that I am home and dry.
I get to the records desk. There is an officer who doesn't care about time, she keeps making disappearance acts, until patients begin to grumble over the slow service.
“Can’t you see am alone in this office, you guys will have to be patient,” she replied arrogantly.
Forty-five minutes pass, at this time patients are getting impatient that the bench has grown thorns. They are pacing around the corridor, and peeing at the records officer’s desk. The officer doesn’t give a damn, off she disappears. Patients that know other staff members have already called to get further support. Soon they disappear. So now you either know people or you are doomed to poor service.
I walked backed to the triage nurse.
“You have not been assisted?”
“Not yet,”
“Did you carry lunch?”
“No,”
“Did you come with someone to assist you carry the child,”
“No, I am alone,”
“Wah! Here you might have to wait a while, in fact with the festive season services might be slower because many are on Christmas break. If you had an assistant it would have been easier,” she says
“Let me wait a little longer, if I won’t manage I will go back to the private wing,”
I wait, and now it has been one and a half hours- 11.30am. Nobody has been served! I finally make the decision to go back to the private wing, where, I find more patients patiently waiting for the doctor.
At quarter pass noon, the doctor arrives and there is a sign of relieve. My daughter is patient number three, and soon the first and second patient leave after being attended to. Finally her name is called and I walk into the office, appreciating the rainbow receptionist.
The doctor is kind, and meticulous. I explain a host of problems and one by one she explains every problem. Apparently, the snorting sound are from the vocal cord and not lungs as I had thought. The doctor explains that there was a slight deformity of the child’s vocal cord, a condition that will disappear on its own in a years’ time. I am so glad to hear this that I feel like Ophra, I I could dish out brand new BMW to anyone I meet.
She goes ahead to prescribe Zupricin for her ambilocal wound, Epimax for the peeling skin, Tetracycline for her eyes, and some other antibiotic for the tongue to deal with the white parches. I pay for the consultation fees and leave a jovial mother. At the pharmacy the bill comes to Ksh. 7525/-.
The money for meds is sent to my Mpesa account. Before I buy the meds, I start to breastfeed her. She now seems health and very peaceful. The breathing sounds are no longer a bother. I decide I won’t buy the meds, baby is fine. Surgical spirit will deal with the wound, Vaseline will work on her skin, warm salty water will handle the eyes. Beside the pediatrician had advised that I wipe her eyes everyday with warm salty water. And use my small finger to pull the corner of her eyes, that will help stretch and expand her tear duct so that the eyes don’t produce pus like tears. I look at the child, now she seems whole.
I won’t buy the meds. Instead, I will keep the money safe. I withdrew it, called a cab, and got home. Once I arrived, I put the money in a safe place, so safe that I have never remembered where I put the money. I turned my room upside down, sieved through the closet and suitcase but the money has never surfaced to date.
It’s an act of God! He knows best.