Geriatric OE

The weekly musing of a couple of Kiwis on their geriatric OE in The UK






Tuesday, 27 November 2012

An excerpt from my PNG diary



The Man and I lived in Papua New Guinea for three years. 
I tell people that I learned to drink gin and play cards, which was true.  As a CWA ( Country Womens Institute) member I also used to help with the weekly purchase of vegetables for the children's ward of the local hospital, and  at Christmas time we would help play Santa
This is an entry from my diary, Dated December 20 2009. Andrew, Anna and Paul were Nationals who worked at the CWA.

Today I went with the other expat wives to distribute toys and gifts bought by CWA to the local hospital. Andrew, Anna and Paul, the national workers at C.W.A came with us.

Andrew was beamed delightedly as he pushed the trolley with our boxes. He announced our arrival in each ward with obvious relish and thoroughly enjoyed helping to distribute the gifts and tee shirts.

We visited the children’s ward first. What an eye opener. The beds were just slatted wooden platforms about 18’ above the floor and the little patients lay directly on them. Small babies were lying partly on pillows. Parents were very much in evidence and with pillows alongside the beds were obviously sleeping on the floor alongside. 
On one side, of the ward near the door a premmie baby who looked about 32 weeks lay naked in a small wooden cot. Ordinary fluorescent tubes were balanced across the top, obviously a primitive version of phototherapy for jaundice. Taped over the baby’s eyes were cut down adult eye-pads.  At the other end of the ward an emaciated skeletal girl lay very still on the thin mattress, hardly covered by the not very clean looking sheet,. There were a couple of babies with quite severe sounding wheezy coughs who sounded as though they should have been on oxygen, or at least a nebuliser. Several of the  children had obviously infected wounds, and saddest of all a tiny baby   who had been born at the hospital only the week before who had been discharged home with its mum, then readmitted that day because its moth had died

We went next to the maternity ward; the only difference in the beds was their size and height from the floor. The women were cheery and the babies beautiful, one or two had been born earlier that day. On a bed behind a curtain the still form of a thin woman lay, covered with a sheet, a drip was up and I could see a very full catheter bag lying on the floor. A very pregnant girl paced up and down slowly, between the two rows of beds. She paused regularly; face creased with the effort of her contractions, and leaned into the older woman who was walking silently beside her. 

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