After a few days of
training with MSF in Geneva and a grueling journey to Sierra Leone, I entered
the Ebola Treatment Center in Freetown where I will be working for the first
time on Monday. Here are my observations and impressions from day one, before
all of these little details become part of the norm and don’t seem so
important:
At the entrance to the
Ebola Treatment Center (ETC) compound, we get out of the car, wash our hands
with 0.05% chlorine water, spray the bottoms of our shoes, and have our
temperature taken. All visitors, staff – EVERYONE – goes through these steps
before entering the center from the outside.
Once allowed inside, we
proceeded to the entrance to the low risk zone – again, washing our hands and
spraying our shoe bottoms. Then on to the dressing rooms, one side for men and
one for women (we have been warned to only wear discreet underwear into the
ETC, as you often sweat so much inside the suits that when you remove them,
your sticky scrubs come right off along with them – so no thongs for us!). In
the dressing room you find a pair of scrubs, which are being washed constantly
all day long and hung out to dry, and hopefully a pair of heavy plastic
gumboots that fit. These are also washed and dried throughout the day, but
after lunch there were no more boots to be had…
From there we headed over
to the medical “office” tent – one area for administrative work, one where
there are white boards detailing patients and needs, etc. A second space is set
up for work – mixing IVs, nursing roster, etc. The third space is for the
pharmacy folks who pack the med bags. The ground inside the ETC is covered with
heavy, broken sharp grey rock. As you’re walking in your gumboots, it’s a bit
uncomfortable and sloppy, but I’m sure I’ll get used to that quickly.
Since we were on
orientation, we spent the day doing various things. I spent the morning in
triage, which I really liked. However, it’s not triage OUR way; we don’t
respond quickly to the sickest patients. Here, we respond first to the NOT
sick, and get them out of the center with a certificate that says they do not
have Ebola. Hospitals and clinics won’t allow them in for care without this.
Plus, people are worried about little things and want to be sure they don’t
have Ebola.
This is how it works:
People come in (after washing their hands, spraying their feet, and having
their temperature checked at the entrance) and sit in a holding area consisting
of plastic chairs 2 meters apart, the safe distance. We healthcare workers
stand under a shade, behind an orange double fence blocking off 2 meters’
distance from them. No confidentiality at all. We get their demographics,
register symptoms, and begin to make a determination about whether or not to
admit. Today many had vague symptoms, but were relatives of confirmed Ebola
patients – a husband, sister, and baby. I guess that’s not unusual. We also
know the “hot spots” where many cases are coming from, to raise the suspicion
level in certain cases.
Today we admitted about
half a dozen people. As we’re doing their paperwork, we give them a bag of
water and a sachet of Plumpy Nut (a peanut-based paste for treatment of
malnutrition) and ask them to eat and drink. A psychologist comes and asks the
patient about who they can call to advise, what they need done, finding a
caretaker for their children, etc. There is also a Health Promoter who talks to
them about what’s happening.
Oddly, enough, the new
patients are stoic. No comments, no questions. They just sit there across a far
divide from us. I would be screaming and crying and begging if it were me being
told I was to be admitted to an ETC! The
patients are then moved to another holding area and a nurse in full Personal
Protective Equipment (PPE) comes to get them, take them to a bed, and get them
settled.
The ambulances also come in the triage
area, and we have a whole procedure there are well. First, they back halfway
into the orange double fence area, then wait for the hygiene team to come spray
the vehicle, remove the patient/stretcher, spray again, spray inside, then
bring the patient to triage, where we do our work from across a 2-meter
table-like barrier. The only time we get any closer is with goggles or a face
shield, when leaning close enough to take a temperature with the little
electronic gun from 6 inches away.
Things are separated here into areas for
suspected and confirmed Ebola patients. In the ward for suspected patients,
they are given a bed in a private “room” consisting of a concrete floor, walls
of vinyl tarps, roof, sun shade, buckets for Oral Rehydration Solution (ORS),
vomit, washing, and stool. The suspected area is separated from the confirmed,
and they try to put the “not highly suspected” as far away from the sick ones
as possible. You don’t want someone who just has malaria to be exposed to Ebola
in the ETC.
The confirmed section has
bucket showers for patients, and male and female latrines. This confirmed area
also has a separate section for those with the highest nursing/medical needs.
It is known as “ICU” even though it really only means IVs versus simply oral
medications. Today I got to don full PPE and go into “ICU”. I think I’ll be
doing that a bit more often because I can start IVs.
There is also a third area
for recovering patients. These people are feeling better – they can walk, feed,
and care for themselves - and are awaiting tests. Patients must test negative
twice in 72 hours in order to be discharged home “cured”. Caregivers for children are recruited from the survivors because
they have immunity for an unknown period of time.
We caregivers have one donning room with very helpful people getting us
dressed, and two different doffing stations where they tell us step by step
what to do as we remove our PPE. We can be inside for only one hour at a time.
Today I was only in for 30 minutes, just being shown around, without doing any
care on day one. I felt OK, not terribly hot or bothered, but the nurse
orienting me was soaked when we came out. One of the docs was in for 90
minutes, and literally poured sweat out of his boot! One style of PPE is lighter
than the other, so everyone wants the one with the blue stripe.
There are bags of water at various points,
and squat latrines for staff. The spaces everywhere are really vast – lots of
room so as not to touch anyone. Things move slowly. Since there is no such
thing as an emergency, no resuscitation, etc, we take our time to work out the
best plan of action for everything.
Teams go in every hour or so: IV/ICU team, oral med team, admission and
discharge team. Nurses (most not very skilled) and our expat doctors go in
together. Outside is a group of nurse assistants. Hygiene goes in with the
medicals. After the medicals leave, the nurse assistants have their rotation to
feed, give ORS, bathe, etc.
One cool thing is that the ICU has a
corridor down the middle, with two 1/2 –meter tall plexiglas walls and the
patient beds all around, so we can literally walk down the middle, not in PPE,
and see and talk with our patients. This minimizes the time we spend in PPE.
It’s the same in the other wards, though not plexiglas. Instead they have a
double fence 2 meters wide so we can talk to the patients across it without
having to be in PPE. There are also slanted “one way” tables so we can pass
them meds, food, whatever. We slide it down to them across the 2 meters, or
push it with a stick if necessary. It’s the same at the entrance to the ICU:
two slide tables so that from the outside you can slide in another IV bag,
tape, or whatever they might need that they didn’t take in. Pretty smart
system!
In addition to all this, there are more
tents for logistics, resting area for staff, and an additional one that just
opened today because the number of patients was higher before discharges.
Blood is drawn by the lab team three times
a day and there’s an actual lab (not run by MSF, but some other entity). They
process the samples in about four hours, so we can clear those who are not sick
quickly and send them out with their certificate and a big “congratulations”. They
also routinely screen for malaria. Most are positive and so get treated.
Admission orders include systematic malaria meds, antibiotics, Plumpy Nut, and
Tylenol if fever. IVs are mixed by the nursing
staff. It made me a little anxious because I’m not sure they are very diligent
about what they are doing. D50 is added to LR, plus potassium if the patient
has a lot of diarrhea. IV paracetamol is given if they can’t take pills.
I sat awhile with the Sierra Leonean nursing assistant staff outside of ICU. If
find that if you do this in the beginning, they get to know you and word
spreads quickly that you’re a good person. One of them said, “Americans are so
simple.” I asked her what she meant, and she explained, “You are always nice,
always soft in your way, not hard like the Swiss and Europeans.” They had lots
of questions and are supposed to be teaching me Krio, the local language. Here
are some basics we’ll use a lot:
You belly de run? or You de gombelly? = do
you have diarrhea
You hed de acts? = You have a headache?
You de feel pen (tapping shoulders)? You
have joint pain?
You de feel weak?
You de eat? = Do you have an appetite?
You de cough?
I need to practice for tomorrow because I’m sure they will ask and give me more
homework.
Oh, and I actually got to be an ER nurse!
Two young men brought a boy who had pulled down a container of lye onto his
head and face. No one knew what to do. He was not sick, just injured. So I
tossed them some bags of water (all of our water for washing has chlorine), and
had them rinse him down about 10 liters. Then I got him a blanket so he
wouldn’t be wet and naked to take to another facility (we are ONLY an Ebola
treatment center and can’t do anything more). I felt pretty good about it, but
think he will have some serious eye damage…
Overall, I’m feeling pretty positive about this mission. I think this is going
to be good!
No hugs to all. No touching.
But much love,
Sue
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
