7:30 am start, prompt. Most of the health centre staff who should be here are wearing masks and waiting for the opening prayer. The nurse in charge asks the most timid, quiet staff member to lead the prayers. We all bow our heads while she mumbles into her mask. I can’t understand a word of what she is saying, but I “amen” along with the rest of the team when she stops.
Her next task is to take the minutes book and read out what we decided last Monday. Again, her voice is very quiet but her English is halting as she tries to read the handwriting of the previous scribe. We get the drift.
What is on the agenda? The malaria sensitisation campaign is underway. I find this rather strange as the peak months for malaria are April – June. Perhaps now we are less busy treating malaria we can find the time to educate the population about how to prevent it. We are recruiting insecticide sprayers for next month. Unfortunately, we don’t have the capacity to spray all the surrounding villages, but some are complaining that they missed out last year on both spraying and free mosquito nets. I must admit to having seen mosquito nets being used in the gardens to protect crops against birds. And some say they have also been used as fishing nets.
One good idea is for the health inspector to alert community health volunteers when someone tests positive for malaria from their village. They have rapid diagnostic kits and will test people living near the “index case” to snuff out an outbreak. Test, treat and track. Where have I heard that before?
The nurse in charge is a very experienced midwife, but he made a plea for other midwives (and any assisting nurses) to remain calm when there is an emergency. “Don’t panic,” he said. “Don’t run around looking for things to do. Just calmly assess the situation. The women are not going to expire immediately. You have got time to make an assessment.” I find this is usually true, but when obstetric calamities occur, things can go bad very quickly. However, I agree with his sentiment and nod sagely. I wonder what catastrophe happened last week that I was not aware of?
The lab technician seems to be working much better now she is alone in the laboratory. Last year, there were three technicians. Too many cooks spoiling the agar broth, I suppose. She informs us about all the tests which are available, but some we can’t use, because they are reserved for certain patients, people living with HIV or pregnant women. It’s a shame I can’t order a haemoglobin estimation for “ordinary patients”, especially as the local hospital won’t transfuse blood unless I know the patient is very anaemic (5g/dl or less than half the normal amount).
Later this week, we will be visited by the Regional ICAP (“International Center for AIDS Care and Treatment Programs”) Team to support our work with patients living with HIV. Perhaps this is a reward for the excellent care provided here, which has improved drastically over the past five years (since my first tour of duty here). The clinic provides anti-retroviral drugs for over a thousand patients in Mfuwe. The vast majority are compliant, their disease is suppressed. The last baby to have been infected by their mother during pregnancy was in October 2019. I find it rather odd that they are paying attention to such a small centre, even if we are doing such great work.
What makes me uneasy is the contrast between excellent HIV care and the poor care for diabetes, hypertension, asthma, epilepsy and other chronic diseases. The difference is, of course, that HIV care gets massive funding from the Global Programme for HIV AIDS.
The nurse in charge issues every staff member with a paper mask which must last them for a week. In the UK, these masks are discarded after four hours as they become damp and less protective after being in contact with moisture in our breath. I am pleased to see everyone keeps their nose covered. In a comment aimed at me, the nurse says, “We are forced to make compromises.” Indeed.
The Human Papilloma Virus (HPV) vaccination programme is stalled. Girls who are 14 – 15 years of age are eligible for two jabs, a year apart, to protect them from cervical cancer. It began nationwide last year and Kakumbi Rural Health Centre staff gave 269 girls their first HPV shot. We don’t know for sure, but we estimate that 90% of this cohort of girls go to school. Schools are the obvious location to round up and vaccinate the girls. But with the Covid-19 situation, all schools are closed apart from “examination year classes”. Unlike last year, we cannot just tell the teachers to line up eligible students for vaccination. Our problem is not just the girls waiting for their second shot, but another 270 girls now aged 14 who need their first shot.
Regular readers will have read my previous blog article about my misgivings with a vaccination programme which should have been given to 10 – 11 year olds, before they have become infected with the oncogenic strains of HPV. Once a girl starts having periods, boys consider her ready to have sex. A significant percentage of 14 year olds are not only sexually active, but are already young mothers.
I must have been daydreaming/brainstorming how to solve this problem when the quiet nurse in the corner started talking softly into her mask. “She’s leading the prayers,” I thought, dropping my chin onto my chest and clasping my hands. A few seconds later, I squint up at everyone else; no one is praying. She is actually reading out her minutes for us to approve. Nonchalantly, I try to adjust my posture to disguise the fact that I wasn’t really praying. I couldn’t tell if the other health workers had noticed and were smirking behind their masks. But I am used to making mistakes and they are used to my strange ways.
We finish at 8:15 am, ready to start the busiest day of the week at the health centre.