In the gleaming world of surgery, precision and control reign supreme. We wield scalpels like magic wands, mending bodies and banishing illness. Yet, beneath the sterile surface, a constant truth lingers – the spectre of death, ever-present and sometimes chillingly abrupt.
My journey into this realm of healing was born from personal loss, the agonising demise of my father when I was just a child. His protracted illness, a mystery to his doctors, ignited a burning desire within me – to shield other families from such anguish.
However, my years in medical school, residency and practice would soon unveil the harsh reality that life, despite our most valiant efforts, can slip away under the most perplexing circumstances.
My early career was marked by two patient cases that profoundly impacted me. The first involved a young boy, merely 15, who sustained a minor cut from a machete (panga if you are Kenyan). It was what we refer to in the medical circles as a routine case.
I remember confidently telling his parents that this was a routine surgery and that we would be finished in about 30 minutes, and they, confident in my words, signing the consent forms and entrusting their son to me.
This routine stitch-up transformed into a chilling tragedy when a malfunction in the anaesthesia machine snatched his breath away, leaving me clutching at his lifeless hand, the weight of responsibility crushing my young shoulders.
Throughout the surgery, the young man had not been receiving adequate oxygenation. It was a brutal encounter with the fragility of life, a stark reminder of how swiftly the scalpel's dance can be halted by the cruel caprice of fate. From that day on I have preferred regional anesthesia methods and only recommend general anesthesia when this option is not available.
In stark contrast, my second memorable case was a burns patient, a victim of the now famous tanker fires in our country, covered in 100 per cent burns, his scorched flesh bearing witness to the inferno’s wrath. His survival seemed unlikely from the outset, yet he defied the odds.
After months of intensive care, numerous surgeries and painstaking treatment, his condition stabilised, and discharge seemed imminent. However, on the very day of his planned discharge, he unexpectedly collapsed and died. This experience was a jarring reminder of the unpredictability of recovery and the limitations of medical intervention. Hope had blossomed, fragile yet persistent, leaving us grasping at the remnants of a battle fiercely fought but ultimately lost.
Dealing with such losses is not a skill taught in medical school. It's a solitary dance with grief, a quest for solace amidst the emotional debris. I learnt to lean on colleagues, their shared experiences a balm for my wounded soul.
Sometimes, for many in the medical world, professional counselling becomes a haven, a space to unpack the self-doubt and the haunting whispers of "what if." It's a delicate balance – preserving empathy's spark while maintaining the emotional resilience to continue caring for others.
I will at this point encourage the many colleagues facing these challenges to seek help and not be ashamed of it, being well is far better than being respected or embarrassed.
These encounters ignite not only emotional fires but also ethical and professional quandaries. Communicating with grieving families, their eyes pools of raw, unfiltered pain, is a crucible of empathy.
Grappling with self-doubt, the endless loop of "what could I have done differently," is a constant companion. And navigating the emotional minefield of malpractice concerns adds another layer of complexity to this already demanding profession.
The role of support systems within the medical community cannot be overstated. Mentorship, peer discussions and psychological support are crucial for navigating these emotionally charged situations. They provide a safe space to reflect, learn and grow from each experience.
Do not lose touch with your family, many in our profession do over the course of their careers, but I can tell you from experience that when there is no one else to lean on, family is an anchor you can always cling to and find a way to safety.
These incidents have not only shaped my understanding of the limits of medicine but also deepened my reflections on life and death. They remind me that, despite our advanced skills and knowledge, there are elements beyond our control. It's a humbling realisation that we are, after all, human.
In surgery, as in life, we are constantly confronted with our strengths and limitations. Embracing these truths is not a sign of defeat but a testament to our commitment to our profession and our patients. We strive to heal, to comfort and, in the face of the inevitable, to find peace in knowing we did our best.
In the end, perhaps this is the greatest service we can offer – not just the pursuit of healing, but the compassion and understanding that accompany every human journey, from its dawn to its inevitable dusk.