Jerry was a bit of a character. He had taken alcohol and then operated a maize grinding mill. Whilst the story was not entirely clear, it seemed he had, for one reason or another, put his hand down the spout and badly crushed two fingers. The recipient of the maize will need to keep an eye out for some bits and pieces which shouldn’t be there. It was after 5pm and the day theatre team had gone home. Rather than call them back, I asked two student nurses on the ward if they could come along and translate and help out.
They were keen and soon Jerry, smelling strongly of alcohol, was on the table and his fingers nicely numbed with local anaesthetic. It may have been the slight clatter of the instruments as I put them on the trolley, but Jerry gave a roar and leapt off the table. One of the nurses tried to restrain him and was rewarded with a large bloody hand print on her white dress. Crashing out the theatre door, Jerry turned left instead of right and found himself trapped in a dead end corridor. He could be heard beating around a pile of storage boxes and plastic sheets drying on overhead lines. Checking the coast was clear, I turned right and hurriedly opened the three sets of doors to the outside, whilst calling to his brother who was sitting outside. We had no idea what this crazy man might do; it was a little frightening as he was powerfully built. We took cover as Jerry sped through the main door. His brother tackled him, hauling him onto a nearby bench and whilst pinning him down, suggested that we carry on fixing his hand.
I indicated that, “Tomorrow would be better”, we were still all shaking. Fetching dressings, I bandaged up the fingers and sent him back to the ward. After further disturbance, he was dishonourably discharged, but with an invitation to return in the morning if he still wanted treatment. He came back alright, brother in tow, who informed us, “He is sorry! It was because of the alcohol.” I took the opportunity to suggest that for the rest of his life, he shouldn’t touch even one drop of alcohol. A quick general anaesthetic put paid to further “leaping off the table activities” and I was surprised to find him still on the ward for the round the next morning. Some days later, he came back for a wound review, wearing a respectable suit and fortunately, the injury was doing fine.
An anaesthetic drug called Ketamine is the mainstay of anaesthesia in most of the developing world. Doubtless it has saved millions of lives and alleviated the suffering of many more. It is safe and easy to use and does not require a fancy anaesthetic machine. But one problem is that some folk have very bad dreams afterwards. If they are drinkers, the effects can be startling.
Joseph was fine whilst we fixed a leg wound, but abruptly woke up on the trolley in the theatre corridor and began thrashing around, threatening to crash off the side onto the concrete floor. Attempts at restraint degenerated into a wrestling match. Fortunately there was a student nurse present called Samson who lived up to his name. Student nurse Mary-Lou is a powerful lass and theatre nurse Siston also wiry and tough. We divvied up the thrashing limbs between us and got him sedated. I was in the mix too, kneeling on his head, I am sorry to say. Had he got loose, we would have been in a bit of cactus. Joseph remembered none of this in the morning. We took him aside, with the chaplain and had another little chat about alcohol.
Next was a teacher who thought he had been bewitched, but likely it was the demon alcohol wreaking havoc in his life. After his operation, he was fine until reaching the ward. Leaping off the bed, he threw it completely upside down, must have given the cockroaches quite a fright. Climbing up and standing on the next bed, he proceeded to leap off into outer space, fortunately into the waiting arms of a powerful male nurse who bravely stepped in to help. It was a funny week for these things.