Now you may think of ulcers as stomach issues. Tropical ulcers are a different animal.
It starts with a small scratch. The sore persists. Becomes infected with mircoorganisms (coral was my microorganism of choice) and it begins to erode muscles, tendons, and even bones. At that point, the cure is amputation.
What does it look like?
So there I was, chilling in Martha's house, when I hear a call. I lookout and it looks like some sick people are outside. The closest clinic is 8-12 hours hike away. So they come to Martha for medicine. And, as I was there, they came to me so Martha needn't distract herself from her work.
I grab a thermometer and a watch.
The technique is:
Fever = Malaria = Chloroquine
Respiratory distress = Pneumonia = Amoxyciline
I know, you're aghast. It's the best we've got. Haters should get medical training and go to the jungle. Until then, the people of Papua New Guinea will live off of Chloroqine and Amoxyciline. (...I suppose if haters want, they can pay for me to get better medical training. That's another option.)
So, I go down and there's this kid with his foot wrapped with leaves and dirty linens.
Wash, bandage, see if he needs Amoxyciline.
I go back on top and grab gloves, Dettol, hot water, and cotton balls, some bandages.
And I get back to see that he had removed his makeshift bandage and beneath it is a gaping wound. The flies had already started swarming.
"I will not vomit. I will not vomit."
I get on my knees and dunk the cotton ball in the Dettol/hot water and begin to clean. I'm not sure this accomplished anything but further disturb my stomach as the center of the cater squished under my touch and the pus stuck to the cotton ball in a stringy stomach turning mess.
It was here I realized I didn't have enough in the way of bandages to cover this kid. But every time I relented in dabbed, the flies went to undo everything I had worked for while impressively maintaining my composure.
"Jacob!" I hollered up to the house. "I need bandages." (He had returned upstairs after snapping the above picture.)
"Where are they?"
Where are they?! They're in the broken refrigerator were all the medical supply was kept.
"In the fridge. Please hurry!" I insisted.
"Where in the fridge?"
I was going to vomit.
"I don't know!" I shouted. "Look around!"
"I don't see it...."
"I AM GOING TO VOMIT IN THIS KID'S ULCER! I NEED YOU TO HURRY!"
So Jacob brought down a large gauze pad.
"Ok." I took deep breaths.
"I need something to keep this gauze pad ON his foot."
So Jacob went back on top.
I swallowed down indications that my stomach was about to rebel.
I covered his wound with the gauze pad. At least I wouldn't have to look at it any more.
It squished.
Just keep swallowing, I coached myself.
"Hurry!"
Jacob was messing with his shoe on the steps up to the house.
"A SENSE OF URGENCY PLEASE!"
My husband has no sense of urgency. Sometimes I need to slow down. I acknowledge that. Sometimes, however, like this time, Jacob needs to HURRY UP!
Hydrocloric acid was burning my throat.
Finally, Jacob got down with some bandage tape and I got the gauze taped down as my body started retching.
Backing away swiftly and thinking of monkey brains (not so much the appearance of them because that wouldn't help. But the comical randomness of deciding to think of monkey brains is a technique I call upon frequently to maintain my composure. i.e. my wedding day.), I resumed control over my gymnastically inclined innards and gave a sigh of relief.
Jacob earned a short scolding on the occasional necessity for haste and when to identify circumstances that required it. (My tone is generally a great indicator. Strained, hoarse, desperate? Hop to!)
Slipping off the contaminated gloves, I properly disposed of the gloves, cotton balls, and used Dettol (I threw them into a wooded area known for its sharp metal remnants of a formed housing foundation where children were afraid to venture.)
Handing over some Amoxycilin and instructions on how to take it, I left the kid to rest from this trauma upstairs, glad that I had saved this eventfulness for last.
Ahh, the life of a missionary. Beautiful tropical vistas. And gaping tropical ulcers. Oh if it were only all fun and games!
... it seems a fair number of my PNG stories involve some tension between Jacob and I. So let me say: Jacob and I had a great time together in PNG. But the times we were watching movies or swimming in the river together (way more fun that bucket showers...) or cooking or shopping or whatever aren't really blog worthy posts. The good stories have a bit of drama. Two months in the jungle and only a handful of accounts speak of Jacob having an emotional break or me letting the little things take me out or snaps at each other like this story? And all of these moments being shortly thereafter forgiven and only remembered as hilarious anecdotes? I think we're doing alright.
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