Lack of resources dumbfounds medical student

Today I was doing prenatal consultations in the maternite, and as I do with all patients, I closed the interview by asking if she had any questions or concerns. This patient completely dumbfounded me by saying, yes, I do have a concern, my husband's mother beats me. She pulls up her dress to show me all these bruises on her body. She goes on to explain that she moved to Lambarene to be with her husband's family and she has no support here. So she gets beaten and no one stands up for her. Goodness, that is not what I meant by any concerns. I was literally dumbfounded. I had no idea how to counsel her or what resources were available. After asking around, I found that none exist here, of course. I felt so helpless. What on earth could I offer this patient? People don't hug here, so even my human contact with her was limited and constrained by cultural differences. Agh, so frustrating to not have anything at all to tell my patient or offer to her.

Born on arrival

Today we had the third baby I have seen in three weeks nearly born in a taxi. If your amniotic fluid gushed in a taxi, plus or minus some blood and excrement, what do you think would be a fair price to pay the taxi driver for clean-up charges? Also who knew this would be such a common occurrence? The first time it felt like a movie. Now it is starting to feel a little ordinary.

The French and their shorty shorts

This weekend, my roommates and I embarked upon a Libreville expedition of epic proportions. Purportedly, our aim was to drop our French roommate off at the airport for her return trip to Dijon, but there was also big city tomfoolery to be had. I have already written about our French military friend, who is an absolute sweetheart. Well this weekend he introduced us to French military life a la etrangere. First and foremost, when the French military embarks to a hot weather climate, they have tiny shorts that they wear as their uniform. It is too super! We arrived at an after work party on Friday afternoon to find dozens of men in military shorty shorts. I was so taken by the scene and expressed my appreciation for this mass display of sexy shorts that our friend commanded one of his subordinates to strip and give me his shorts. So if back in the US, or elsewhere in the world, you see me wearing a pair of tiny cammos, you know they came directly from the thighs of a young French military man. Too great.

In other news, I bought all the train tickets that I will use for when my husband arrives at the end of the month. We are going to travel this country--I am so excited!

Be careful what you pretend to be

In middle school when everyone was reading Kurt Vonnegut because he was a relatively deep, interesting author that was nonetheless accessible to young minds, I wrote one on his quotes on my wall that stayed there well into college. It read: “Be careful what you pretend to be, because you are what you pretend to be.” Although this is a bit cliche, reflecting on this idea has served me well in the domain of medicine since so often I am just pretending to be a doctor. I have to pay attention because the habits, manerisms, and knowledge that I display now are the kind of doctor that I will be. I have been thinking about this recently in the Maternite because there is not always a lot of supervision of the work there and I get to make decisions somewhat on my own. Thus the habits that I am developing in examining patients, in doing pre-natal consultations, and in doing deliveries are the habits that will shape the kind of doctor that I am. I think about this every time I do something new, like rupture an amniotic sac yesterday afternoon, that the way I do this now may be the way that I do it for the rest of my life. Or at least for some time. It is a wonderful and frightening feeling at the same time.

In other random musings, I think that living in a foreign country for so long has been an impetus for me to reject received notions of my tastes and limitations. In short, Gabon has helped me to work through some of my fears and dislikes. For example, before I came here I would have sworn to you that cheesecake makes me vomit. But at the American house in Libreville, I ate two pieces of cheesecake, and it was delicious. I have been eating mayonaise on fish and omelettes for dinner (when there is not a good vegetarian option) the whole time I have been here. Those three foods are things I would have told you are repulsive to me before Gabon. Interestingly, it turns out that is not the case here.

My greatest triumph over my formed ideas of myself and my limitations occurred today though: I gave blood! Pre-Gabon, I would have told you that I was not someone who could donate, that I would faint, or be anemic, or just not tolerate the procedure. But I was wrong. I guess that my food and blood limitations are the corrollary to the notion that you are what you pretend to be. Even if you pretend to be something, and it starts to become a part of you, it does not mean that you can't pretend to be something else later on.

Be careful what you pretend to be

In middle school when everyone was reading Kurt Vonnegut because he was a relatively deep, interesting author that was nonetheless accessible to young minds, I wrote one on his quotes on my wall that stayed there well into college. It read: “Be careful what you pretend to be, because you are what you pretend to be.” Although this is a bit cliche, reflecting on this idea has served me well in the domain of medicine since so often I am just pretending to be a doctor. I have to pay attention because the habits, manerisms, and knowledge that I display now are the kind of doctor that I will be. I have been thinking about this recently in the Maternite because there is not always a lot of supervision of the work there and I get to make decisions somewhat on my own. Thus the habits that I am developing in examining patients, in doing pre-natal consultations, and in doing deliveries are the habits that will shape the kind of doctor that I am. I think about this every time I do something new, like rupture an amniotic sac yesterday afternoon, that the way I do this now may be the way that I do it for the rest of my life. Or at least for some time. It is a wonderful and frightening feeling at the same time.

In other random musings, I think that living in a foreign country for so long has been an impetus for me to reject received notions of my tastes and limitations. In short, Gabon has helped me to work through some of my fears and dislikes. For example, before I came here I would have sworn to you that cheesecake makes me vomit. But at the American house in Libreville, I ate two pieces of cheesecake, and it was delicious. I have been eating mayonaise on fish and omelettes for dinner (when there is not a good vegetarian option) the whole time I have been here. Those three foods are things I would have told you are repulsive to me before Gabon. Interestingly, it turns out that is not the case here.

My greatest triumph over my formed ideas of myself and my limitations occurred today though: I gave blood! Pre-Gabon, I would have told you that I was not someone who could donate, that I would faint, or be anemic, or just not tolerate the procedure. But I was wrong. I guess that my food and blood limitations are the corrollary to the notion that you are what you pretend to be. Even if you pretend to be something, and it starts to become a part of you, it does not mean that you can't pretend to be something else later on.