The man walks onto the ward and makes a beeline for me. He talking loudly and expressively in Zulu, his arms waving dramatically to emphasise whatever point he is making. He is a little unkempt but not obviously drunk or high. He sees I do not understand and switches to Afrikaans.
“I don’t speak Afrikaans. Try English.”
He obliges instantly. “Doctor, I am here for my medication. I need my medication. Can you write me for my medication? I have run out and I need more.”
“You must go to outpatients sir. They will help you with you tablets.”
“I need haloperidol, chlorpromazine and epilim. You can write me up for them can’t you?” They are antiepileptic and anti-psychotic medications.
“Go to outpatients sir. They will sort you out.”
“Ah yes. Thank you doctor.” He pauses and watches me. I turn back to the patient I am seeing. He begins talking loudly to the nurse.
“Could you keep your voice down sir? It is hard to hear the patients!”
“Of course! Of course! It is very irritating isn’t doctor when people show no consideration?” There is a hint of irony. He is nodding enthusiastically and looking at me seriously. As I continue on my round he wanders off. 20 minutes later he is back with one of the OPD nurses Bongani in tow to make sure he doesn’t get up to any mischief.
“Ah! There you are doctor. You must help me. These people do not realise that I am God. You must tell them who I am. You know who I am don’t you?” A spray of spittle gets me in the eye. “And there is another thing. Can you help my vision?”
“What is wrong with your vision?”
“It goes dim. But only when I read the New Testament.”
“It is OK when you read anything else?”
“Yes – there is no problem with anything else.”
“OK – let me see if I can help you.” And God and I nip over to outpatients to sort out His anti-psychotics.
“I don’t speak Afrikaans. Try English.”
He obliges instantly. “Doctor, I am here for my medication. I need my medication. Can you write me for my medication? I have run out and I need more.”
“You must go to outpatients sir. They will help you with you tablets.”
“I need haloperidol, chlorpromazine and epilim. You can write me up for them can’t you?” They are antiepileptic and anti-psychotic medications.
“Go to outpatients sir. They will sort you out.”
“Ah yes. Thank you doctor.” He pauses and watches me. I turn back to the patient I am seeing. He begins talking loudly to the nurse.
“Could you keep your voice down sir? It is hard to hear the patients!”
“Of course! Of course! It is very irritating isn’t doctor when people show no consideration?” There is a hint of irony. He is nodding enthusiastically and looking at me seriously. As I continue on my round he wanders off. 20 minutes later he is back with one of the OPD nurses Bongani in tow to make sure he doesn’t get up to any mischief.
“Ah! There you are doctor. You must help me. These people do not realise that I am God. You must tell them who I am. You know who I am don’t you?” A spray of spittle gets me in the eye. “And there is another thing. Can you help my vision?”
“What is wrong with your vision?”
“It goes dim. But only when I read the New Testament.”
“It is OK when you read anything else?”
“Yes – there is no problem with anything else.”
“OK – let me see if I can help you.” And God and I nip over to outpatients to sort out His anti-psychotics.
Outpatients
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