Skip to main content

Spa

“So do you think we can?”

“I think so. Don’t you?”

We have been talking like this for most of the day. Dr Kekana told us about a spa resort near the hospital which she went to last week. “You must go,” she said, “it is so nice!” We mentioned it to the manager’s secretary and she said she would arrange transport. However it kind of goes against the grain – leaving the site when you are supposed to be available.

“It’s only 7km away – we can be back in 15 minutes if we need to.” I say.

At 5pm a hospital 4WD rocks up outside the house. We climb in and set off. Our driver, Adolph, is a genial fellow who works in the Facilities department. As we chat it turns out he is not Zulu at all but Sotho, from Limpopo. He came to KZN some years ago for work.

The spa is only a few minutes drive down the dirt track. We park and find the bar. It is a highly improbable set up – “luxury” accommodation and a restaurant nestled in a valley in this remote part of rural Zululand and full of elderly Afrikaaners – come to “take the water” I suppose. Villas line the slopes, each with dramatic views over the valley. The spas themselves look as if they have seen better days. The brochure says they are 41 degrees – a dip of a toe reveals this to be an exaggeration.

We sit in the bar for a drink with Adolph and flip through the fliers on the table. Apparently you can also hunt here – shoot a Zebra for only R650.

One of the younger Afrikaaners comes over and gets into conversation with us. He explains to me with great animation how exactly to kill an elephant (shoot out its knee and then blow out its brains just in front of the ear. The skull is too thick if you try between the eyes apparently).

Dinner is steak – fantastic after nice, but slightly same-y hospital food. Adolph watches the Afrikaaner group as they in turn watch the news. There is lots about the strike. Adolph leans forward and whispers, “If they knew I was ANC – phew!”

We wrap up after an hour and half. We are on call after all. We get back and Hendy nips into outpatients. He comes back to the house 5 minutes later. “No one,” he says with satisfaction as he slips “Spaced, series 1” into the DVD player and we both settle back for another tough evening on call.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Abscess

The phone rings. I am lying on the sofa in the dark squinting at the laptop screen: someone has lent me series 1 of Spooks. I struggle up and bump across the room to the phone. “Hello?” “Moran!?” “Yebo.” “How are you?” “I am fine.” “I am fine too.” And then those four dreaded words. “Please hold for maternity.” The line goes dead for a second and then a midwife comes on the line. “Moran?” “Yes.” “How are you?” “I am fine. “I am fine too. I have a 22 year old primip. She is in labour but I cannot do a PV. She has a Bartholin’s abscess.” I ask a few intelligent questions and then, pausing only check what exactly a Bartholin’s abscess is (an abscess of the Bartholin’s gland apparently) I head for maternity. On arriving I am taken to the woman concerned and, yes, sure enough there is a large abscess in the position that I imagine a Bartholin’s gland might sit if I knew exactly what it was. “I cannot do a PV to check the cervix because it is too painful.” The abscess blocks the way. “Right.
1 comment
Read more

10 years on

The door flies open. Lele peers in. "You must come out here and see. They are doing a play!" I finish up my case file annotation and come to the doorway. The waiting area is in chaos. A gang of school children are manhandling a couple of marimba's to the space in front of the consulting rooms, a team of nurses and counsellors are creating a stage area. Patients look on mutely. Some with interest, others - presumably feeling proportionately less well - without. "What is going on?" I ask. "It is 10 years since the clinic started. 10 years since MSF first started the HIV treatment programme and proved that it could be done in Africa. So the staff are celebrating. They are doing a show or something." The sister in charge of the clinic has moved to the front of the crowd of patients. She calls for silence and then gives a short introduction. Lele translates for me. "She is saying that this is a very important day. 10 years ago people were dying. And 10
3 comments
Read more

Ceza Hospital

I am woken with a jolt. The 4-wheel drive has left the tarmac and we are on dirt road. I look ahead into the hills – the road wends its way high up into the distance. “How far?” I ask Amos, our driver. “About 40km.” I settle back and watch as the settlements become less and less pseudo-bungalows and more and more mud rondavels. The road to Ceza It was about a month ago that our medical manager first mentioned that we had been asked to help out at Ceza Hospital – a remote rural hospital about 2 hours away. Its medical staff (only 8 at the best of times) had been steadily departing and only one remained. He was leaving at the end of May and they were desperate. Desperate enough to accept help from us. As I said – a month ago – but it was only last Thursday that I found myself agreeing to go. Two of the others had been that week. I phoned them to ask what it was like. “There are no words to describe it,” said Nomfundo, “speak to Dr Kekana.” Dr Kekana comes on the line and after humming an
3 comments
Read more