The Epoch Times obtained permission to publish her experiences of life and death in a distant country.
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Friends, Perú won't release me from its grip. I stayed for another semester for my medical residency in this marvelous country, specializing in internal medicine. Just like a regular M.D., I am responsible for the patient, but under the supervision of the head doctor. There are so many wonderful things to write about—things that are different and unique. Today, however, I will only tell you about Rosa.
Rosa, 24 years old, comes from the Andes Mountains region, a place called la Sierra-Cajamarca: the very same place where the Spaniards had fiendishly stoned the last ruling Incan king.
Rosa contracted abdominal tuberculosis when she was 20 years old. Due to her family's modest income, there was no money available for her to consult with a physician. (Money was only available in the event of a dire emergency, and that was not considered the case then.) Medical help was sought only after her bowels had become perforated and pus-filled: an advanced case of septic peritonitis had set in. Surgeons determined that a large portion of her intestine had already died, and needed to be removed. She needed a colostomy, at the tender age of 22—just because she could not afford to seek early medical care.
Her condition worsened—she contracted pneumonia and was transferred to a hospital in Lima. People from the provinces always come to Lima when they have a medical crisis. They arrive by overnight bus, accompanied by their relatives. This is routine—relatives have to accompany the patient. They are the ones who would pay for the daily prescription medications and the exams.
Very weak when admitted, Rosa was put on artificial feeding. Her 23-year-old sister has not left her side for four straight weeks, and sleeps on chairs by Rosa's bedside. Rosa's uncle, who lives in Lima, comes for a daily visit.
Lack of funding prevents us from carrying out specific exams. We frequently have to wait for a week, before patients are able to pay for prescriptions and exams. More often than not, a relative has to sell all his/her possessions, and eventually all the family's savings go towards the patient's medical care.
Someone invested in and put up a street-side booth that advertises the availability of ultrasound, blood transfusions and X-Ray testing. I have no clue how we are to carry on.
It is extremely difficult for a doctor to work under these conditions. We are aware of measures to help patients, but we simply lack the funds. This is truly a human catastrophe. These conditions however, do enable me see diseases and illnesses in stages that I am only familiar with through textbooks in Germany.
And we, who are “well-off,” live at the expense of the poor. World commerce "lives" and thrives—so we can buy cheap coffee and cool Nike shoes. And the people who produce these items earn so little for their labor that they cannot afford medical treatment, so they or their families are doomed to die.
Rosa’s condition deteriorates day by day. Now she has an inflamed liver—most likely brought on by anti-tuberculosis treatment. Her kidneys are failing and she has water on her lungs. She becomes jaundiced, and has edema all over, including her pupils, and her breathing is labored. The expensive medications that could offer relief are simply out of reach for her.
Her sister caresses her lovingly, combs her hair or holds her hand: the only things she can do. Fortunately, the uncle is there to lend support; you can see him in the photo; you can see the fear on the 23-year-old sister's face … and the suffering—so much death experienced, at such a young age.
Everyone in the department and Rosa's family are awaiting her death. But her heart is so young and strong. We have stopped all medications, because of their side effects.
During a quiet moment, I tell her good-bye. Her bed is hidden behind a three-part portable screen, to isolate her from the other 40 patients. I pray for her.
During the afternoon, the remainder of her family arrives from the Andes—her mother, with five other children, the aunts and uncles. The mother wears the typical Andean costume—four skirts, a woolen jacket and signature hat. Her cries of pain and anguish are heard throughout the whole department, "Why, why, daughter, why?"
Rosa dies the following day.
Rosa's sister immediately embarks on a 16-hour bus ride heading for home. Three weeks later, I am on vacation in that area, and unexpectedly run into her at a farmstead. (Mountain folk typically don't make eye contact with gringos [white people] or those who have money.) When I greeted her, "Hello, you’re Rosa's sister?" she looked up into my eyes, with a beaming smile illuminating her face. That was human contact of the finest kind.
On this note, greetings from Lima from Halina
Halina Kingreen chose to do her residency in Lima Peru, where she writes of her experiences to her friends back home. She is a medical student at a university in Berlin, Germany.
Read this article in German: http://www.epochtimes.de/articles/2009/05/10/443311.html
