A day of chaos at the hospital: Patients on floors and field
\ngurneys, doctors scavenging for supplies[ Eds: \/\/\/Recaps
\nprevious.\/\/\/[ AP Photos XAI102,106-107[ By EMMA ROSS= AP Medical
\nWriter=
\nBANDA ACEH, Indonesia (AP) -<\/p>\n
A day of chaos at Banda Aceh hospital<\/p>\n
Emma Ross
\nReuters\/Banda Aceh<\/p>\n
Sawing through the door of an abandoned laboratory, scavenging
\nfor oxygen machines at the airport and crafting makeshift IV
\nmedicine bag hooks out of tent pegs.<\/p>\n
It's a day in the life of the most functional hospital in the
\ncommunity hardest hit by the Dec. 26 earthquake and tsunami, a
\nplace where patients lie on new white body bags because they are
\nplentiful and easy to clean.<\/p>\n
The Teungku Fakinah Hospital is the only hospital in Banda
\nAceh that escaped significant tsunami damage. But when an
\nAustralian medical team arrived in the days after the disaster,
\npatients and staff were nowhere to be seen.<\/p>\n
\"The place was deserted. Our people figured they either died
\nor ran away,\" said Dr. Hugh Grantham.<\/p>\n
That was then. Now, there are patients, and many of them are
\nin trouble.
\n
\n8 a.m.:<\/p>\n
About a dozen doctors and nurses set off on morning rounds.<\/p>\n
Seventy patients are packed tight in rooms and in corridors,
\nlying on field gurneys or floor mats, their families around them.<\/p>\n
Their names are taped to the walls on scraps of paper. Their
\nclothes stick to them, and their bodies glisten with sweat. They
\nare fanning themselves or each other with scraps of cardboard.<\/p>\n
IV bags hang from clothes lines strung from one end of the
\nroom to the other.<\/p>\n
Most of the patients were battered and cut by debris caught up
\nin the tsunami waters. Many inhaled dirty water. Others are dying
\nof tetanus.<\/p>\n
Many have flaps of flesh torn away from their bones, or skin
\ntorn from muscle. Unattended, the wounds close and pus forms
\ninside, creating the risk of gangrene and deadly blood poisoning.<\/p>\n
In a corner, a young man lies on a body bag atop a gurney,
\nsurrounded by women mopping his brow, reading from a Muslim
\nprayer book and rocking back and forth, chanting \"Allah\" in his
\near. The paper on the wall above his head reads \"Marwan.\"<\/p>\n
He stares vacantly, his chest moving up and down rapidly. His
\nheart races. He came in overnight with pneumonia caused by
\ninhaling tsunami water. He moans, tossing his head from side to
\nside, gnashing his teeth and screwing up his face in pain.<\/p>\n
The doctors prescribe antibiotics and oxygen.
\n
\n9 a.m:
\nGrantham convenes a meeting of all medical teams in an attempt at
\ncoordination. While the Australians were the only medical workers
\nat the hospital in the early days, there are now teams from
\nseveral countries - each with their own turf.<\/p>\n
\"We've got the Estonians, Canadians, the Taiwanese and then
\nthe Indonesians. It has taken a number of days to persuade this
\n'United Nations' to work together,\" said Grantham.<\/p>\n
\"They all arrived as independent teams to do their bit and
\nwhat I've been doing is welding them together into a hospital,\"
\nthe Australian said.<\/p>\n
A police doctor came from Jakarta to take over hospital
\nadministration. An Estonian medical team installed themselves in
\nthe emergency room. So did a Taiwanese team and a Malaysian team.<\/p>\n
The Estonians report there's no one to clean the emergency
\nroom. Dr. Lufti Bagus, the police doctor, offers to find someone.
\nThe Estonians say they will pay -- it's going to cost the
\nequivalent of a pack of cigarettes a day.<\/p>\n
Another problem: patients are being fed only rice -- not
\nenough to keep their immune systems up and promote healing. The
\nIndonesians have a cook who goes to the market every day, but
\nmoney is tight. The Australians say they will pay for better
\nfood.<\/p>\n
There's also a problem with patients who are well enough to
\nleave but have nowhere to go. Perhaps a humanitarian organization
\ncan take them? \"I'll see what I can arrange,\" Lufti offers.<\/p>\n
As the meeting winds up, four South Koreans -- a
\ndermatologist, a gastroenterologist and two nurses -- arrive and
\noffer their services. Grantham thanks them for volunteering but
\ntells them the hospital is well staffed. They insist on staying.<\/p>\n
12:30 p.m.:
\nThe emergency room is teeming. The South Koreans have set
\nthemselves up in a corner, the Estonians have the rest of the
\nroom. The injured and the ill sit patiently waiting their turn on
\nworn wooden benches, smoking and watching doctors dress wounds.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile, the Australian doctors have reshuffled the patients
\nin the wards, creating a low-grade intensive care unit and
\ngetting the rest of the sick out of the corridors. A lone man
\nsweeps the tiled corridor.<\/p>\n
The place almost looks normal.<\/p>\n
David Mack, a rescue worker, has finally breached the locked
\nlab with a hammer and saw and created a hole big enough to crawl
\nthrough. Dr. Andrew Pearce, an Australian surgeon, is the first
\none in.<\/p>\n
As soon as he enters, the glee is clear on his face. The lab
\nappears to be fully stocked with modern equipment. A new
\nrefrigerator in the corner is stuffed with chemical reagents and
\nother materials for lab tests.<\/p>\n
\"We're doing bush medicine at the moment. Now we can go beyond
\nthat. This is a full lab. I'm excited,\" he said.<\/p>\n
The lab has a spooky feeling. The log book lies open at the
\nlast used page. Dozens of entries are recorded on Dec. 25, but
\nthere's only one entry for Dec. 26, the day of the earthquake and
\ntsunami.<\/p>\n
Pearce opens the cupboards and lets out a cry of delight --
\nurine test strips, portable blood sugar monitors, test kits. He
\nfills his arms with as many of the treasures as possible before
\nheading to the wards.<\/p>\n
Mack sets out to hammer IV bag hooks out of tent pegs.
\n
\n2 p.m.:<\/p>\n
Grantham turns his attention to the South Koreans' hold on the
\nemergency room, but when he gets there, they have gone back to
\ntheir camp. He puts the task on his list for the next day.<\/p>\n
Dr. Bruce Paix, one of the Australian team's
\nanesthesiologists, goes to raid aid shipments coming into the
\nairport for oxygen concentrators -- machines that suck in air and
\nspit out oxygen. He takes three boxes of antibiotics to trade.<\/p>\n
On the way to the airport aid compound, he stops at the public
\nhospital, which is not fully functioning but has a field surgery
\nunit being run by the Australian army. He scores two bottles of
\ninhalable anesthetic -- enough for six operations.<\/p>\n
At the airport, he splashes through the boggy grounds from
\ntent to tent, deluged by the monsoon rains, begging for an oxygen
\nconcentrator. The Spanish, who are operating a triage tent for
\ntsunami survivors, say they have one but it's not available until
\nthe next day.<\/p>\n
Back at the hospital, the rains are pelting down, soaking the
\nlaundry draped from trees and strung up across the grassy
\ncourtyard.<\/p>\n
The Australian doctors, hot and sweaty, rush out fully clothed
\nand start lathering up their clothes. Then they strip off to
\ntheir swim trunks and bathe in the rain - it's the only running
\nfresh water they can get.<\/p>\n
3:30 p.m.:<\/p>\n
Marwan, the young man suffering from pneumonia, has been given
\noxygen and antibiotics, but they didn't work. He dies -- one of
\nfour patients the doctors lose that day. Two others, including a
\n14-year-old boy, die of pneumonia and another patient dies of
\ntetanus.<\/p>\n
On this day, like any other since the tsunami, relatives often
\ntake the body away for burial, but sometimes they don't. And
\nsometimes there are no relatives.<\/p>\n
GetAP 1.00 -- JAN 12, 2005 08:51:11<\/p>", "url": "https:\/\/jawawa.id\/newsitem\/a-day-of-chaos-at-the-hospital-patients-on-floors-and-field-1447899208", "image": "" }, "sponsor": "Okusi Associates", "sponsor_url": "https:\/\/okusiassociates.com" }