Taffeanna

Life is fragile; and how much more so in a country whose access to medical care is limited by the logistics of transportation. In those instants that determine life and death time is a luxury that few can access.

The coffin was wedged between the wheels of the banana yellow plane and a wall of legs. From the opposite side of the airstrip I could hear sobbing as a group of family surrounded the small aircraft and clutched each other while straining forward to peer towards the open door of the plane. The sound of ripping plastic sliced through the air and elicited a new wave of tears from the group who watched as the covering that surrounded the body of a 9 month old baby was removed.

The previous week the 9 month old had developed an abscess on is neck. His mother had watched her only child with growing concern. When the local clinic was of no further help she determined to have him flown to Georgetown. Although the abscess was lanced the infection had gone too far. Before the week was out, the he was gone.

As I watched the sobbing group load the casket into a waiting truck I was reminded of Taffeanna and how the story of her life could have had a similar ending.

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The IV bag swung from the mental hanger I held above my head as we strode down the sandy trail towards the creek. Four year old Taffeanna eyed the plastic bucket Nurse Becky carried through feverish eyes as her mother toted her down the trail beside me.

Taffeanna had first shown symptoms of sickness that morning when her fever and diarrhea began. As her fever climbed her symptoms worsened until she began having fever induced seizures. When she arrived at the clinic in early afternoon she lay limp her mothers arms with a fever of approximately 105 degrees.

“Quick! We need someone who can start a child IV!” With several years of emergency room experience it was quickly decided that my sister Elizabeth would be the best choice. “Hold her arm,” I was instructed, “don’t let her move, we don’t want to have to poke her twice.” With her tiny hand in one of mine and my other clasping her arm above the elbow I could feel every buck her feverish body made against the needle. “No, no,” she cried, while fat tears streaked her hot cheeks. It was enough to make me feel like crying too.

Once the IV was inserted I relaxed my grip and stroked her hand while she continued to cry and several volunteers cooled her skin with alcohol drenched cotton balls. Eventually she fell into an exhausted sleep. I watched her while she slept and when she awoke I elicited her help in further cooling her skin with the soaked cotton balls. With her free hand she dipped her cotton in the solution and meticulously wiped down each leg and foot while eying me warily.

With her fever down to the still high number of 101.3, Taffeanna was feeling better. Sitting on her mothers lap she drank a flavored rehydration mixture while her IV continued to drip. With no warning, she had what can most tactfully be described as a case of explosive diarrhea. Her mother stood holding her shaking daughter while the front of her dress dripped down onto the widening mess on the floor. With no running water the problem of cleaning her up became a small dilemma.

And that is how I found my self with an IV bag swinging high above my head as our small procession made our way down the sandy trail with a wash tub and a bar of soap to towards the creek. While Taffeanna watched the rest of us laughed at the spectacle we made: Mom caring Taffeanna, others carrying buckets, soap and towels, and me attempting to keep the IV high enough so as to not allow blood to seep back into the plastic tubing.

After her bath Taffeanna continued to improve. When she returned the next day she was running along beside her mother and playing with the other children. “Without medical attention she could have easily died,” was Nurse Becky’s assessment. By the time a boat was found to take her across the lake, the mile and a half walk to the main road was completed, and a taxi had taken her to the emergency room where she would have had to wait for at least another hour, it would have been too late. Once again we had been reminded of the fragility of life, but this time, we were also thankfully that it had been possible to intervene.