As we approached Marvin’s hospital bed, I saw that he had been
intubated. His cousin was erratically hand pumping oxygen to his lungs,
his eyes red with tears. I gently reminded him to keep a steady rhythm. Marvin’s father was leaning against the wall, the same
anguished look in his eyes as before. Occasionally he would gently pick up his
sons’ hand and let it fall back to the pillow, as if willing him to
regain life. His mother wiped the sweat from his forehead with a dirty
rag.
I learned then that Marvin had bacterial meningitis. The medicine
he needed, Phenytoin, was to keep him from having seizures. We took the
prescription to the pharmacy across the street, and returned with $50
worth of medications and IV fluids. After praying with the family I
returned to the base, fell down on the nearest bed, and sobbed.
A
few hours later I returned to the hospital to check on Marvin. The
medication had still not been given. A doctor was there now, and she
said that the first dose needed to be a larger amount. We would need to
buy 3 more $25 vials, and 2 more every day after that. The doctor told
me again that his condition was very critical, and even if he survived
he would have permanent brain damage.
I knew that we didn’t have money
to buy the first dose of medicine, let alone the following doses.
I
also knew that it wouldn’t cure him, he would likely still die. I
couldn’t keep the tears from flowing as
I talked this over with the
doctor. I hated being put in the position of deciding how much care Marvin would receive.
I knew that the family would purchase the medicine if
they were able to, so that’s what I decided to do.
The pharmacy across the
street was out of Phenytoin, so we spent 30 minutes walking in
search of one that did. When we finally found it, it was even more
expensive than the previous ones, but by then I didn’t care.
I
came home exhausted and tearfully tried to explain the situation to my
team. They reassured me that I did the right thing, and we would somehow get the money we needed.
