Tuesday, 29 May 2012

In my Professional Opinion of Life in General

After 5 months of rural living, 5 months of paying taxes, 15 days of seclusion and introspection and a gob-smacking 9 hours of life experience I have compiled a list of observations/opinions/conclusions. They come in the form of bullets, as everything is better in point form.


You know you've been in the Ingwavuma for too long when....
  • running water and smooth tarred roads elicit as much excitement as a 75% off sale
  • sunset becomes an event 
  • snakes, goats, chickens and cows are "normal" road kill
  • your gut greeting upon meeting new people in a Western setting is "sanibona" as opposed to hello
  • you change your running routine slightly and you get 5 comments from different sources all saying "ow, sisi, I see you are not running any more"
  • machettes are used as "lawn mowers". For this reason you are not overwhelmed with fear when a man carrying a machette passes you in the street
  • when passing bushes you are more concerned about goats darting across the road than sneaky traffic cops with speed cameras
  • in a Western setting you find yourself giving and receiving with your left hand placed under your right and doing a small courtesy (in Zulu culture you give and receive with your right hand as a sign of respect) 
  • you're defining criteria for "good accommodation" is running water that can be drunken straight from the tap
  • the presence of chicken fillet in spar is stirs so much joy and excitement to the point where it may result in a tweet, BBM or FB update
  • a destination that is 1.5 hours away is classified as "around the corner"
  • a tap without water, a petrol station without petrol and a post office without stamps no longer shocks you


You will never_________________________________ until you come to Ingwavuma
  • know natural beauty 
  • realise that you never have "nothing" 
  • understand that water is vital and that electricity is convenient
  • know how few people speak English
  • value fluid conversation in your mother tongue 
  • know how much you value your family and friends
  • witness true dignity in the face of adversity 
  • understand the importance of community 

Monday, 14 May 2012

It was funny but Eish!


Today I found myself on a road so bumpy it would put a VibroMat1 to shame. I navigated the rough terrain to Gwaliweni Clinic with a prehistoric Toyota Land Cruiser (affectionately referred to as T-Rex) of which I am convinced was donated to Mosvold by David Livingstone himself.

Prior to any clinic visit you are required to do a pre-trip inspection to ensure that the vehicle is “road worthy”. I usually check the oil, water, tyre tread, spare wheel, jack, spanner, lights and fuel level. According to my adapted K53 pre-trip inspection I felt that the T-Rex Toyota was “road worthy”; however I failed to check the speedometer and odometer until I was halfway to clinic. To my dismay I found that although I was in 3rd gear the speedometer still read 0 and though I had been driving for at least 20 minutes the odometer reading was the same as when I left the hospital. So there I sat, trying to activate non-existent neural paths to try and “sense” the speed at which I was driving. At the same time I noticed that the petrol gauge seems slightly bipolar fluctuating between full and half full. Seeing as we made it back home in one piece, it's safe to say that the proverbial petrol glass was half full and not half empty.

1 VibroMat is a piece of equipment used-it vibrates at a super high frequency and is often used in chest physio

My chariot...T-Rex Toyota (left) and the Gwaliweni Gangster aka Donkey Kong in a stare-off...no really, the donkey wouldn't move

Navigating the rugged terrain-I lift my eyes up unto the mountain where my help come from?

Sunday, 13 May 2012

Tracey Goes to Clinic

Treatment of in-patients, out-patients as well as clinic visits form part of the job description of a physio at Mosvold Hospital. In-patients and out-patients are treated on hospital property; clinic visits on the other hand take place at various outlying clinics. These clinics are run by Nursing Sisters, members of the health care team from Mosvold (eg. Dieticians, Doctors, Social Workers, Opticians etc) visit these clinics once a month to see patients for follow up or assessment.

Your average clinic day starts with the health care worker (in my case the therapist) phoning transport department and praying for a car. Once a car has been granted, the itinerary has been completed and you have piled all the necessary paraphernalia as well as other members of the health care team into the vehicle your journey to the clinic as well as your day at clinic commences (note the journey and the day are 2 separate parts).

The Journey
Depending on the clinic location you may end up travelling for as long as 1.5 hours on tar or gravel road dodging potholes, cattle, school children and few other mentally challenged road users. Due to the varying terrain you may find yourself transforming an Average-Joe Mazda Sting into a 4x4. In scenarios when there is limited transport and you have been assigned a driver from the Hospital you may find yourself forming part of the drivers dream to part take in Ingwavuma’s version of the Dakar Rally…a most terrifying experience indeed!

Meet the Mr Bean Mazda Sting. Don't be fooled by its atrocious colour, this car is a Transformer

One of the double cabs that we get to take to clinic

The common KZN Cattle Congress that has to be dodged on the road 


The Clinic Visit
Once you have reached your destination the real work starts. As therapists you are required to run an exercise group for arthritis patients. The size of the group ranges from 2 patients to 30 patients. The number of people in the group is dependant on the size and location of the clinic, the number of people in the area with arthritis and most importantly patient compliance. These groups are a source of entertainment for my patients and a humbling experience for me as the translators do not attend clinic. For this reason I am required to run the group using a list of phrases that I have written down and may not have always practised pronouncing. This is amusing as I have been learning Zulu as long as I have been in Ingwavuma (ie 5 months) thus my Zulu is far from good. The exercise group is structured-you come in, you greet, give your disclaimer (I’m from Cape Town, I’m English so excuse my Zulu BUT I am trying), you do your exercises using your phrases, you sign the patients card and give the “Buya”date (Buya: pronounced “boo-ya” is Zulu for return). The end of the exercise group marks the beginning of the "real" party J

As you sign the patients’ cards, they either:
A) Say thank you and walk home 
or
B) Go off at you in Zulu

Patients going off at you in Zulu either:
Bi) Complain about pain (pain which is chronic-duh, you have arthritis)
Bii) Ask for Tubigrip (Tubigrip is a compression bandage effective for certain painful conditions and swelling-not all arthritis patients need tubigrip, but 90% of arthritis patients at clinic are CONVINCED it’s the cure to life in general)
Biii) Tell you something which is not remotely related to arthritis as they do not have arthritis, therefore they have been referred to physio for an individual session NOT the group session.

My response to patients going off at me in Zulu:
Bi) If the pain is due to the arthritis I tell them in broken Zulu: the definition of arthritis as well as the management, prognosis and treatment thereof
Bii) Give them tubigrip as I have given up on convincing them otherwise. Due to the large quantities of tubigrip issued, I have dubbed myself “The Tubigrip Fairy”
Biii) Ask them to wait inside for me to see them one-on-one. These one-on-one sessions are often the most challenging as my Zulu is limited, the patients English is non-existent and the people who are willing to translate (bless their hearts as they are angels) are not always accurate. 

The individual sessions usually take the longest as I have to see some of the patients from the group as well as other individuals for follow up. Once again patient volumes vary from 2 individuals to 12. After all the individuals have been treated and the other members of the health care team are finished with their patients you can FINALLY go home. Unless of course, you have to do a home visit with the Social Worker which is what happened at my latest clinic visit.

Search and Retrieve
After the worlds longest afternoon of individual patients where I had to use a psych patient to convince 1000000000 arthritis patients (ie 3 out of 5) that they don’t need to come to Mosvold for an x-ray because we know how their arthritic bones look; I embarked on my first home visit with the Social Worker.

This home visit was different from any other as people living in Ingwavuma don’t have a “fixed” address consisting of a house number, street name and suburb. Instead they give their address in relation to something (eg. A school) so instead of saying I live in 54 Humus Street Newlands, they’ll say they live at Nansindlela School in the Ingwavuma area. I was always curious regarding the method used to locate both the person and their house when there are no street names or house numbers - all was revealed when we went on our search for our grade 6 client using The Voomsies style "Search and Retrieve".

This method of Search and Retrieve consists of me driving the hospital double cab around the Nkungwini area while the social worker stops random people on the street asking the where abouts of the child. After asking number of people we were pointed in the direction of a school play ground as school had just been dismissed and the client we were looking for was on her way home. We had to sift through a sea of little faces to find the girl. After much hooting, tip-offs from scholars and foghorning her name out the window we managed to located the client. 

Phase 1: Search = foghorn + hoot + point
Finding her was the easy part, the challenge was getting her into the car as this little lady applied the golden rule of life-Don't talk to/get lifts from strangers. In doing so she broke into a flat sprint to get away from our double cab-the glory of her impressive sprint was short lived by the barricade of classmates who blocked her. Once the girl saw the Social Worker she remembered her face and agreed to get into the car. 

When peace and calm had been restored I found myself taking the client home for the home visit. The road to her house was a narrow one, it could hardly be classified as a road.  It was more of a foot path flanked by bushes, huts and long grass. Nevertheless we transformed it into a road-or at least, we drove in faith because I sure as hang did not know what was lying beneath!

What the road was intended for-people walking.
What we transformed it into. As in all "tense" situations, my eye is twitching.

What our transformation can be compared to-Squeezing an elephant through an alleyway.


Thursday, 3 May 2012

The Rurals for Reals

Welcome to Mosvold  
This is Mosvold Hospital-my place of work, my place of residence and the source inspiration and insanity 
Main Road Ingwavuma- 2 running routes to choose from: either left or right of the speed bump
Ingwavuma main road-where the streets should be for pedestrians and the pavement is unofficially for driving 


My Housie
This is my humble abode
This is my veranda :) I also have aircon
Ingwavuma CBD

Let's have fun at the mall-Pep, Spar Trader, Elerines, Ithala bank, Dunns and 2 Chinese stalls
Spars' competition 
Meaty treats available in Spar
More meaty treats-yes, those are chicken feet
Vintage market rural style-I scored a sick trench coat for R50!
Our panel beaters 
We even have a car wash
Fancy Stitch-the ultimate (and only) tea garden! The chocolate milkshake is totes divi's yo!

Entertainment 


The airstrip-aka "The Spot" the ultimate venue for sunsets

Sunset

My Church

The road to Zonke Zizwe church

My church...well part of it :) and the epic view




Wednesday, 25 April 2012

From Zero to Hero and back again


In the space of 1 month I’ve had the privilege of visiting Cape Town twice J  I surprised my splendid sister for her birthday on my first visit and my second visit was over the Easter weekend. Both visits to the fair Cape have been fantastical, the journey home on the other hand has been interesting to say the least.

Getting back to Cape Town or any other form of civilisation is no joke. It’s a 2 hour flight preceded by a 4.5 hour drive along the N2 with no lights, many trucks and sprinkle of my favourite Gauteng and Mpumalanga drivers (hope you can feel the sarcasm radiating through your screen). However, there are a few aspects you can look forward…let’s re-phrase that, there’s one aspect...being able to play Need for Speed for reals! You can drive at 120km for 4.5 hours and not worry about getting a fine. In addition to this you get the perfect opportunity to test just how mad your driving skills are whilst enjoying the view of God’s awesome creation.

These trips to civilisation may be a burden or a breeze. It’s a breeze when you like your car, it's light on petrol, you have an epic playlist and you have a GPS to get you around town. It’s a burden when none of the above happens. My last trip to Cape Town was by far the most memorable, as I got 2 for the price of one…it was what I like to call a “breezy burden”. 


The Breezy Burden:
It was my first solo mission to Cape Town for 2 Oceans so I woke up super early to get a head start before the Easter weekend traffic madness began. It was all good - I had Adele, Bassment Jaxx and Kings of Leon keeping me company, the sun was out and Janet (my GPS) was leading the way. I had completed ¾ of my journey before tea time and there was even time for me to head to the shops. Lets just say I was feeling like a champion.



Me feeling like a hero after 3/4 of my journey...well done, you beat a cow and a rock


This heroic feeling was short lived, as I hit Durban city my dearest Janet (the GPS) cut out. Every time I tried to plot my route I got a message saying  “lost signal”, Janet failed in the area I needed her the most. This would be fine if Janet was joking and I actually knew Durban , however this was not the case. I feverishly tried to resuscitate her, but nothing worked. I tired following the signage, but I kept taking the wrong turn. Since I couldn't get to a shopping mall or garage to ask for directions I ended up driving around Durban like a forlorn frazzled fart for a total of 2 hours. It took the kindness of a cuddly oom at the Sasol station to get me out of this pickle. He was gracious enough to escort me from the hustle and bustle of Durban CBD to Pavillion shopping mall. 

The road from Zero to Hero is but 2 words away...Signal Lost

The Hero face versus the Zero face...see, my eye's twitching


After 5 hours of driving, 2 hours of freak out and 2 hours of attempted retail therapy I boarded a plane where I had the “privilege” of being wedged between 2 gentlemen. One was drunk pensioner, the other a charming young man. The pensioner insisted on lecturing me regarding my dreams and aspirations as well as giving advice regarding the upcoming race; the charming young man delighted in watching me squirm and dodge the Pensioner as he invaded my personal space and sprayed saliva on me with every word.

My flight at a glance: Charming young man laughing on the left, drunk pensioner on the right and me looking as awkward as a turtle in the middle.
Though the journey to get home was a boarder line trauma case, it was by no means a predictor for my stay in the city. I successfully managed to complete 2 Oceans by running the first 10km and swimming the last 11km (thanks to the rain). In addition to this, I finally bought a camera and I have been trigger happy ever since-"real pictures" will follow shortly!

Whilst at home I have found that living in the sticks has made me appreciate the finer things in life. I find myself marvelling at robots, funneling and downing tap water, gazing at shower head as the water gushes out at the right pressure for a Type 1 shower all day everyday. I have also noted a strong urge to embrace anyone and everyone who speaks English and Afrikaans, it's like we have a bond that they are not aware of. If you catch me at the right moment you may find me laughing and smiling at nothing and no one in particular and if you are very lucky you might witness/hear me sing the “Wena” song. The Wena song was written and composed by me in a moment of sheer joy and is performed when words do not suffice. 

City things that make me do the Wena dance-namely robots, bright lights, tap water, cars and people. 

Sunday, 1 April 2012

Lost in Translation


Treating patients in a newly found language has been an interesting ride. It’s been the source of much frustration, many laughs and far too many marathon treatment sessions.

The 3 Zulu phrases I learnt on my first day was “Hello”, “How are you?” and “What are you here for?”. The first 2 phrases are fine-they have generic answers-the universal response to “hello” is “hello/hi/yo/*grunt*” and most people respond to “how are you?” with “I am fine”…the last phrase on the other hand opens Pandora’s Box. It marks the beginning of an adventure that generally consists of me frantically searching for remotely familiar Zulu words, running between colleagues  to relay + translate unknown phrases that keep coming up and to ask follow-on questions - all of this activity to START the physical evaluation in order to identify and treat the cause of the problem.

The "Universal" section of the treatment session, where respective greetings are exchanged. Hello. How are you? I am fine, How are you?
Upethwe yini? Translated into English "what are you here for?" aka The calm before the storm

The course of events between me asking "what are you here for?" and the patient giving me a long answer in Zulu. My brain responds to this verbal outflow by embarking on a frantic search for familiar words. This search inevitably ends in my brain short circuiting, frazzling and atrophying.  

Up until 3 months ago I found myself feeling overwhelmed, lost and forlorn every time a patient walked through the therapy doors into my cubicle as my Zulu vocabulary is “limited” and gesticulating only gets you so far (try gesturing “3 point touch weight bearing” to a patient with a fracture and you’ll get a taste of a typical therapy session). One of the teachers who attend our church came to save the day. The Chrin and I were advised to contact two local lads who have subsequently become our super-hero translators. 

Super C fist pumping on the left in blue and Tenacious Tutu on the right in green. 

Super C and Tenacious Tutu sit in on treatment sessions relaying my questions to the patients and their answers to me. This has been an answer to prayer as patients receive optimal treatment and rehab programmes and I no longer run the risk of treating the “wrong” problem – one stormy afternoon I worked out an elaborate strengthening home programme for a patient with a degenerative condition…one hour later I learnt via translation that all he wanted was a wheelchair-wheelchairs take 5 minutes to measure 10 minutes to adjust and 3 minutes to do the paper work. Super C and Tenacious Tutu are super-star translators, the patients; on the other hand have a tendency to try ones patience with their long winded and sometimes irrelevant answers. The patient type determines whether the session will occur in 2 parts or 4 phases.

Type 1 Patient

Definition: These patients are generally young –> middle aged. They have been referred to physio for fractures, sprains or pain of a specific cause. They generally have a good baseline health level. Their sessions are straight forward and occur in 2 parts.

Part 1: They come in, greet, tell you the problem
Part 2: They answer the questions and receive treatment.

Portion of population: These patients make up ±10% of my patient population.

Average treatment time: 45min to 1 hour

General vibe post treatment: Happy patient, happy therapist – therapist was challenged but felt productive

Type 2 Patient

Definition: These patients are generally middle aged –> old. They have their primary problem + 10000000000000000 other ones (eg. Fractured leg, but they have had a stroke and they have had arthritis for the past 10 years) alternatively they have 1000000000000000000 problems with 1 primary cause which they don’t acknowledge (this may be by choice or default). For example their WHOLE body aches because they have arthritis, in addition to this they get crazy head aches but this is caused by their arthritis and their legs and arms swell after they’ve had a busy day….but you guessed it-it’s from the arthritis.

Due to the nature of these cases these patients give long-winded and many times irrelevant answers. These patients have 4 phase treatment sessions which can be marked by varying levels of frustration.

Phase 1 - Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed: The universal greeting and establishing the main problem.
Phase 2 - Hopeful : Asking 1 of the 5 "clearance questions" which determine the severity of the problem. The patient usually responds with a long winded answer.
Phase 3 - Frustration: The question is posed a second time in a different manner. The patient responds with yet another long winded answer.
Phase 4 - Desperation: The question is posed for the third time in the form of an ultimatum "yes/no" question.

Patient Scenario: Gogo comes to physio with a 2 year history of headaches and neck pain

Phase 1: Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed - With the help of the translators the physio executes the Universal greeting and the dreaded Upethwe yini with grace and ease.

Phase 2:Hopeful - The clearance question is asked "Do you ever see double?" The patients answer is verbose, but the physios bright eyes indicate that she is listening intently-hopeful that the answer will be hidden somewhere between the patient telling you about her cat and the colour and shape of her 9 different tablets.

Phase 3: Frustration - The question is repeated in a different form. The patient responds with another slightly off course answer. Note, the physio's tail and eyes droop as frustration kicks in, the number if patients in the waiting room increases and the time ticks on.

Phase 4: Desperation - The same question is posed for the third time in a closed form. "Gogo, you are only allowed to answer yes or no...do you EVER see double?" To which the gogo finally responds..."No"

Portion of population: These patients make up ±80% of my patient population.

Average treatment time: minimum of 1 hour

General vibe post treatment: Patient happy/annoyed depending on the perceived outcome. Therapist….on the verge of tears-and we haven’t even started on the physical evaluation.

Type 3 Patient

Definition: These patients are generally children, middle aged or old. They are in-patients (ie patients who have been admitted to the hospital and chill in the ward) and have been referred to physio for a number of different causes. These patients are the source of colourful treatment sessions which generally involve me making a fool of myself as I try to win their co-operation, most times my effort is in vain! Their session also occurs in 4 phases.

Phase 1: I come in, greet, give an instruction.
Phase 2: They patient looks at me like I fell out of a tree.
Phase 3: I recruit a translator in the form of a Nurse/Super C/Tenacious Tutu.
Phase 4: The patient grunts/blinks/ looks at me + the recruit as if we have fallen out of the tree together.

Patient Scenario: Gogo with pneumonia referred for chest physio, gogo is required to take deep breaths as part of treatment and evaluation.


Phase 1: Universal greeting, physio tries to explain in broken Zulu/with gestures the aim of treatment as well as the exercise to be done. 
Example: Gogo, I need to listen to your chest so please take a deep breath (pefumla kakhulu) 




Phase 1: Physio demonstrating a deep breath. Note the exaggerated facial expression-massive eyes, flared nostrils and shoulder shrugging to elicit a breath. 
Phase 2: Patient blinks...twice
Phase 3: Nurse is recruited to supervise-check that the physio is pronouncing the word correctly and to reinforce the instruction.

Phase 4: Patient response: Patient politely goes moves from sitting to lying and pretends to sleep. 


Portion of population: These patients make up ±10% of my patient population.

Average treatment time: 15 to 30 min

General vibe post treatment: Therapist: Hysterical, humiliated, defeated or manic. Patient: indifferent, amused or victorious








Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Imminent Irena and everything in between


After a terrific weekend of game drives, good food and cyclone Irena scares at Tembe Elephant Park I came home to find security guards chasing (no jokes literally chasing) a little vervet monkey around the premises. The monkey who took refuge in a tree close to the house of Baby Spice and Ton-dawg was followed by the security guard, their catapult and promises of monkey friends if it came down (by monkey friends the security meant monkey meat for “KFC” as he called it). Luckily for the monkey Ton-dawg was near by, she stopped any security shenanigans with a inarguably logical argument “My house. My tree. My monkey. Please leave my friend alone… Bye bye”. I didn’t hang around to see what became of the little monkey, all I know is that is was the prelude to another week of laughs in The Voomles.

On Monday I came to therapy department to find that it was flooded. Why was it flooded you may ask? Contrary to popular belief Irena had not entered the building - this week "Irena" has been blamed for everything! One guy passed the flooded department exclaimed “oh I see, Irena (the cyclone) came to visit over the weekend; but she saw that no one was home so she left a message”. Instead of a visit from Irena we had a special someone. This special someone left the tap open when there was no water; at some point on the weekend the water came back on and flooded the department as a cloth was left in the sink covering the plug hole.

Me with an abnormally large head looking confused at the river flowing from the therapy door


Seeing as our department now looked like Therapy Island operation Sponge was put in place. Everyone was recruited for the clean up. The original disaster management crew comprised of our 2 cleaners, myself, The Chrin, the senior physio and OT as well as our 2 translators. Water was dispersed by using mops and brooms, water was collected using scoops and water ploughs were created out of blankets. At some point the legendary Mam July recruited 5 Pink Ladies as well as a few people in suites to assist in the operation. 45minutes later order was restored, and another Manic Monday ushered in.

Figure 1. Therapy Island-My artistic interpretation of Mondays flooding. A) Mam July sweeping the water. B) Army of Pink Ladies C) Colleague standing on the table making a phone call D) Person ploughing water E) Patient sitting on a chair surrounded by water