Minor Surgery in Mozambique

So much to my surprise, I just have just woken up from anesthesia, and am slowly overcoming the fact that I just had minor surgery in a third world country (note: I dont think that "third world" is actually the polically correct term, but forgive me I am in pain/shock)

So it wasn't entirely a hit and run procedure, but the whole process was quite unclear… and then all of a sudden I was passed out topless with some man cutting at my armpit.

So I got another armpit cyst. Called the doctor. Was once again told to take antibiotics. Great. I have taken so many antibiotics in the last few months, they apparently no longer work.

And then, on Wednesday, it started oozing. Again, called the doctor. I was instructed to immediately come to Maputo on Thursday morning. Sweet I thought, a day or two in Maputo, miss some school, do some shopping, get a cyst drained, what more could you ask for?

Well, shortly after I got the instructions my phone was stolen off my kitchen table while I was on the porch gutting and preparing a fish the size of my head.

Then I was told by my director that I must finish all of my end of term work before I left which means I spent 5 hours filling in grades, calculating averages, making unit plans, and writing a report on the term. But, luckily, since I am an English teacher, I do all of this in English, and thus no one can understand a thing I say. I like to use fancy words, compliment myself profusely –

ex: “evidence of the teacher’s personal creativity and impressive ability to overcome obstacles such as having absolutely no school materials is reflected in the students strong and often animated enthusiasm for the English language.”

I also make inside jokes with myself. Whatever, it makes me laugh and gets me through the often seemingly useless work I have to do.

But work finished and behind me, I made my way down to Maputo Thursday morning, and had a consult with a doctor.

Well it wasn't quite as cut and dry as I had thought it would be. And it was all in Portuguese.

Now, I speak the language, but somehow missed all the med lingo when I was learning. But I know my consult went something like this:

“ok, we have to open it up. Lets do it. You haven’t eaten anything recently have you?”
“Well, considering it is 2pm, yes, I just ate lunch.”
“Ok, well then you will have to come back in at least 6 hours. How about 8pm for the operation.”
“Well, I would rather not wander over here by myself in the middle of the night for some operation thank you very much. All I need right now is to be mugged. But how about tomorrow.”
“Yes, ok 6:30 am. We’ll drain it.”

And then a nice Mozambican man proceeded to inject two syringes of antibiotics into my ass. At first he didn't realize I spoke Portuguese and made a series of what could be interpreted as obscene hand gestures.

“Oh, you want to put it there.” I responded
“Yes, yes, good, you speak.”

He even helped me afterwards to position my underwear just right to hold the cotton ball in place so I wouldn't bleed. I guess Mozambican hospitals don't like to spring for Band-Aids.

As I meandered over by myself at the next morning at the crack o dawn – still phone-less mind you, unable to recount my woes to anyone - I imagined what the process might entail. Probably some local anesthetic, a needle, maybe a small cut.

After arriving, I was quickly hustled into a bed, and then before I could even ask what was going on, my shirt was off, there was an IV in my hand, and an oxygen mask on my face. Shit, I’m goin under.

Now, surgery in Africa might terrify you. But I saw them open the needle packages, and change the sheets. So at least it seemed clean.

But most things here are the type of clean where you can tell that people mop the floors, but probably with dirty water and they could really use some grout bleaching.

In general, the place lacked that sterilized feel that I hate but know is a good thing about American hospitals. Everything is also just a little more low tech. For example, they had to hand crank the bed up to an appropriate level for the abnormally tall mozambican doctor, but they soon found out the crank was broken or the nurse was inept/not strong enough, so I stayed low lying.

Well, now its all over and done with… except that I have to stay here and have my bandage changed every day and might miss my amazing trip to Botswana which may or may not include bungee jumping at Victoria Falls next week.

But I might have convinced the doctor to let me go providing the armpit is for the most part up and running. Heres hoping.

But so far it's healing quite well. I had a minor scare where I was convinced there were white puss pockets forming in the wound. Turns out that its just my muscles growing or something.

Shows you how much anatomy I know, I mistook my muscles for puss.