Visit to Gulu Regional Referral Hospital

September 22nd

I went to visit the hospital today, and met with not only the Medical Supervisor but also with the head radiographer, Morris, and the dark room assistant, Charles. As we walked into the hospital (George, myself and the MS) I was smitten. Though the buildings are made of mud bricks, and some windows have been fixed with plywood rather than glass, there was something incredibly humbling about being there, and also being welcomed there. 

We first talked with the MS and he explained the situation they are in. Gulu Central (as I knew it) is actually called Gulu Regional Referral Hospital. Regional meaning that this hospital serves five districts, more than 100,000 people. (Gulu district has about 20,000, so that estimate is probably off by a bit). Yes, there are other hospitals in the area, such as Lacor, however, those are privately owned or funded, and this is the government hospital of the area, so it serves a lot of people who are impoverished to a degree I have not experienced before. (The Northern region of Uganda is in a desperate state). However, despite all of these challenges, the staff are welcoming, compassionate and doing the best they can with what they are provided. The MS was very kind and showed us to the x-ray unit, where we waited for Morris to finish an ultrasound scan before we met him. As we waited we talked more about the situation in the area and I just attempted to take it all in. It can become very overwhelming, however, every small amount helps. So if I can help a little, even just relieving some of the work from those who regularly work at GRRH, that is fine with me. 

Morris entered the room and greeted us all. He is about 60 years old and has been doing x-ray and ultrasound for the past 30. He is from Kitgum but has been in Gulu for the past 25 years. He explained the work schedule, the work load, what I should expect and then showed me the room. There is one x-ray unit, a mobile one that they got a year ago. Standing behind it is the old unit, still with cobwebs on it, as it hasn’t been used in ten years. There is a table in the center of the room, bolted to the floor. The table is fixed, not one of the floating like I had been blessed to use in the US. The loaded cassettes lined the far wall, awaiting their turn to be used. A single lead screen was to the left, providing a little protection to the radiographer when an exposure was made. We proceeded into the darkroom, which is entered by passing through a labyrinth of balck painted walls. In the dark room sat three containers on the floor, a paper cutter and extra films on the counter. There are sinks to the left, however, those have not been used in some time I think. The three containers on the floor contain developer, fixer and water. The drying racks are hung on the wall on nails until the are needed to place one of the films in the developer. In the dark room we met Charles. He is the dark room attendant and also helps with the work load. He has been working at GRRH since 1982, and will celebrate his 47th birthday on October 9th and I later found out that his name is Uhuru Charles because he was born in the same year that Uganda got its independence. Uhuru means independence. He explained a little bit of the process of developing the films to us and I conceded that I would probably need to be taught how to process the films as I had only learned a small amount about it in school and had never put it in to practice. He agreed to teaching me and we exited the room. Though there were many patients waiting for their exams to be completed and my help would have been appreciated, I knew that I needed to go home and rest. George and I said farewell to the staff and then walked back out the same rusty gate we had driven in just an hour earlier. As we walked out I was hit by the reality of providing medical care to the third world population, and while it was an immense realization I was also very excited to be able to be here. There is something humbling about attempting to provide to care to people who have seen darker and more disturbing things than my mind can even begin to conjure up. To serve them. I cannot even put into words what it does to me when I think about what they’ve been through, and now I get to serve them. I don’t have words.