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Medical Thursday Doors Zambia

Could this be Covid?

This is the Valley Doctor’s car, being protected by a large baboon on the roof. The car door is the only portal in Thursday Doors this week.

She was gasping for breath as they brought her into the consulting room, never mind the patient who was already there telling me about his piles. The nurse ushered the man with piles outside, but the lady was so distressed, she could not sit in the vacated chair.

“Let…me…go…down,” she wheezed and sat on the floor, back against the wall.

My first thought was: could this be covid-19? If it was, it would be the first case we have had in the clinic. My second thought was, this looks like asthma. Experienced clinicians know that “common things are common,” or if you hear hoofbeats, don’t think of zebras – unless you are working next to South Luangwa National Park, as I am. I quickly established that there was a history of asthma and I set to work examining her.

Crawshay’s Zebra. It has intensely black stripes with no faint grey line between.

It is always important to stand back during emergencies and calmly assess the situation. I took my time counting the respiratory rate, observing her use of accessory muscles of respiration, checking she was not cyanosed. She was clearly very unwell. “I…can’t…breathe,” she managed to say. OK, enough masterly inactivity, “Let’s try her on a nebuliser,” I said.

The nurse retrieved the nebuliser from a cardboard box under the sink. It was dusty and battered, but there was a power cable, tubing, a mask and a chamber for the drug. All we needed now was a salbutamol nebule. “Out of stock,” said the nurse. “They never were in stock,” I replied. “The only nebules we have ever had were donated from overseas or brought by muzungu doctors.”

We moved her out of the consulting room to the female ward, but it was full, so she took a bed in the empty male ward. Despite sitting propped up, she became more distressed and said that she felt tired with the excessive effort of breathing. I checked the medical cases in the back of my car but could find neither my nebuliser, nor any nebules. But I did find a salbutamol multi-dose inhaler which I brought back to the ward.

“Do you know what this is?” She nodded yes. “Breathe in the gas from this inhaler.” She put the inhaler in front of her mouth and tried to activate it. No gas came out. “Press harder,” I said. A cloud of salbutamol came out of her mouth as she hadn’t breathed in. “Never mind, try again.”

Big cat in a tree, stretching after a heavy meal of impala in South Luangwa National Park

“I…want…an…injection,” she managed to say. The nurse went off and came back with a syringe and aminophylline. Now, aminophylline works extremely well, but it has a narrow therapeutic window. Give too little, it has no effect; give too much and the heart stops. I wasn’t ready to use this drug just yet, so I used my calming voice to try to reassure her that the inhaler would start to work quickly, just relax, don’t worry, this is going to improve very soon. I gave her a few more squirts from the inhaler, this time ensuring most went into her lungs. “It will just take a few more minutes to work,” I told her. I bought some time by feeling the pulse and checking her arterial oxygen saturation. The pulse was fast, but not tachycardic and her saturation was 99%, which was better than mine.

Just as the nurse drew up the aminophylline into the syringe, the patient became calmer. Sometimes this is bad news, as hypoxia causes sedation and she might be going into respiratory failure. But I knew this lady was well oxygenated, so we waited and her breathing became easier. Everyone smiled as she slowly recovered. After five more minutes she felt comfortable and was able to provide me with more history.

She said that she had been wheezy for about six hours. The night had been cold and windy, stirring up the dust in the village. She thought that this might have been the trigger for the attack.

She had been diagnosed with asthma ten years ago and had been prescribed inhalers in the past by muzungu doctors. But the clinic only stocks salbutamol tablets and inhalers are expensive if bought from the local chemist, so she discontinued therapy.

“So when was your last attack, before this one?” I asked.

“It was when I got tear gassed by the police,” she replied. I had a sudden vision of my patient attending a political demonstration in Mfuwe.

The nurse explained that there had been a disturbance some months ago, when a horde of villagers descended on a dying elephant with machetes to chop themselves a hunk of uber-fresh meat. To restore public order, the police had to fire tear gas into the crowd. Or perhaps it was to allow the elephant to die in peace.

I will have to add tear gas to my list of possible provoking factors for asthma.

At the local chemist, I bought a course of prednisolone and a replacement inhaler for the patient and returned to the ward. She was fast asleep as she had been struggling to breathe since midnight. When she awoke, I asked her to come for review in two weeks at the clinic.