With Father’s Day here I thought I would highlight one of the amazing fathers we have been lucky to meet during our time here. I have continually been awed by what fathers and husbands have done for their family members while they are at the clinic and wanted to pass on one of their stories. (Obviously I see mothers do wonderful, kind and generous things as well…but I was struck by one particular parent and so came the idea for this blog post).
Chiri Health Center is little more than three cinder block buildings, painted a dull grey and wouldn’t pass the mustard for even the lowest level of care center in the US. There is no tv, wifi, cafeteria, gift shop or even a magazine to look through to try and pass the time. Family members wait on wooden benches for hours on end while their loved ones are being seen by the nurse and days at a time if they are admitted to our inpatient unit. They are generally responsible for giving medications and providing food to their loved ones, washing their clothes, giving baths and even helping them to the latrine if they so need. With transportation often being little more than horses or mules (for the better off), just getting to and from Chiri with a patient is often no small feat. Once a patient is put in the inpatient room, family members often stay here in Chiri for the continuation of treatment. Maybe one will walk back to their village to get supplies, food and clothes, but this is also quite an ordeal as some live hours and hours walk away. To put it simply, it is no picnic in the park to be the family member to a patient.
We recently had a patient, Fanaye , who was in her mid-twenties and had the unfortunate luck of having both HIV and TB. She could barely move by the time she came to Chiri Health Center and ended up staying for over a month in the isolation room. Her father, Haile, brought Fanaye here and literally sat guard outside the door every day for over a month while she was here. No books or newspapers to help the time pass. No walks to the cafeteria for an afternoon snack or checking email to keep your mind preoccupied; it was just him and Fanaye. He slept in an empty bed next to hers with little more than a heavy scarf to keep him warm at night. Every day, rain or shine, he waited patiently in line with the other patients for his daughter’s TB meds and brought them back to her. He would help her walk when she needed to use the bathroom and when she was stronger he would sit with her outside so she could have a little fresh air and sunlight. Sometimes I would go to say hi to Fanaye and would see her father on her bedside pleading with her to take her medications or try to eat a little. At some point she wasn’t gaining any weight and so was put on the nutritional formula we give to malnutrition patients. As he had with the other tasks we charge patient’s families to do, he very patiently held each cup to her lips, helping her drink. Fanaye eventually was discharged because she wasn’t improving and there wasn’t anything more we could do for her.
Daniel and I were recently out for a run and saw Fanaye’s father walking home from market (they live in the next town over). We exchanged hellos and asked how she was doing. Using our very broken Amharic and Kafanono we pieced together that she was okay. We thought she had maybe passed away as it had been a while since she had been back for TB meds and were glad to hear the positive news. The next day Fanaye and her father returned to the clinic. As they had been here for quite some time all the staff were happy to see her and say hello. Her father explained that she wasn’t able to take her medications and was hoping there was something here that we could do for her. We all tried different ways to coax her into taking it—crushing the pill and making a liquid so she could drink it, adding sugar to take away the taste and Daniel’s best idea, putting the pill in a piece of chocolate. She was not having any of it and eventually I began to think that maybe she was just done with it all. Maybe she was ready to no longer be sick and weak, and maybe she was refusing to take her medications not because of the bad taste but to end things for once and for all. We all sat there watching her father plead with Fanaye to take the medicine just as he had done before time and again. You could see it in his eyes that he had not yet given up on his little girl. He sat outside her door for days on end and clearly he was not yet going to let her slip away just yet.
Once it was clear to us that she wasn’t going to change her mind people began to disperse. It had been raining off and on all day and at that point you could tell the rains were about to return with vengeance. I watched as Haile helped his daughter walk to the gate where their horse was waiting for them. It began to rain and so they sat in a wooden shack built as a waiting area for overflow patients. I would guess they sat there for at least an hour before they could make the trek back home. We have yet to see Faneye or her father since then and I can’t help but wonder how they are all doing. You could tell from looking at Haile’s eyes that if he could, he would do anything to make his daughter well again. Unfortunately in a place like this there is a lot lacking when it comes to health care, but at least for Faneye and the many like her, when it comes to a father’s love and devotion she has received all you could need and more.
***Sadly this morning I learned that Faneye passed away just a few days ago. I am sure she will be missed by all of her friends and family. I hope to always remember Faneye and the immense struggle she had fighting two diseases that are both very much preventable and treatable…yet for many reasons are not and therefore still killing millions like Faneye.
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