Nightmare at Mulago Hospital
Inside the gleaming buildings of Mulago Hospital, frustration awaits hundreds of patients daily. <b>Denis Ocwich</b> posed as a patient. He describes the day’s experience.
Denis Ocwich posed as a patient. He describes the day’s experience.
By 9.05am I was at the outpatient department. I spent 33 minutes in the queue of men, women and children, before reaching the registration desk, where two men and a lady recorded patients’ names.
In an unfriendly tone, the woman asked what my problem was. I answered, “fever and diarrhoea.â€
She scribbled something on the medical form then told me “go and wait there,†without giving me the form. She did not ask for “chai†or “sodaâ€.
I squeezed myself into the crowd.
Visibly, everyone looked confused, not knowing what next. After about 15 minutes the lady said, “Mugende wali wa ggulu†(Go up there).
We streamed up the stairs to see the doctors. Another nightmare! The crowd of men, women, children, youth and grandees had grown to about 150. Many of us were standing because the benches were filled up. Here, if you are cool, you cannot manage.
One has to be sharp and tussle it out with the crowd. That means being able to jump the line and forcing one’s way to see the doctor first. Often the ‘first come first serve’ rule is not followed.
The workers assume that everybody knows which point to go to next. So they never bother to guide patients. Some patients get lost and stranded.
Beside me was an emaciated old man. His shirt was dirty. Sitting on a bench and clutching a walking stick, he was leaning forward with the face down to his knees.
The rattling cough inside his chest evoked sympathy. By 10.30am, after I had spent one-and-a-half hours in hospital, I entered the doctor’s room. By then more people had piled up. Some patients were shivering and visibly in bad condition, but it was survival for the fittest. Inside Room 4.10, a smartly dressed official, with a slightly bulging belly, sat behind a busy table. I could not tell whether he was a medical assistant or a doctor. He was too fast and did not allow me to explain my sickness in-depth.
The notes he jotted down on the pink laboratory request form was hardly legible. The lab assistant in Room 5.02 had to consult his colleagues to make sense of what was written on the lab request form.
It took me 40 minutes to wait for the results. There were 36 other people waiting for their results. “No mps seen.â€
After the final consultation I hurried over to the hospital’s pharmacy. I had been in the hospital for nearly four hours, it was already lunchtime and there was a long queue.
How disappointing! The lady dispenser told me the drugs were not there. She instead asked me to buy the drugs from a pharmacy.
At this point, I strayed into Ward 2B, where I found an accident victim who had spent more than sh50,000 to buy medicines in town. For fear of repercussions, he declined to disclose his name. “When a poor person falls sick, he is left at the mercy of God,†he said.
By the time I left Mulago at 3.05pm, I was dejected for spending six hours only to walk out empty-handed.
The only consolation was that I was not sick. I walked to Vine Pharmacy in Wandegeya, and the dispenser could not make out the prescription, which was in bad handwriting.
Such is the nightmare that hundreds of patients go through at the Mulago National Referral Hospital daily.
By 9.05am I was at the outpatient department. I spent 33 minutes in the queue of men, women and children, before reaching the registration desk, where two men and a lady recorded patients’ names.
In an unfriendly tone, the woman asked what my problem was. I answered, “fever and diarrhoea.â€
She scribbled something on the medical form then told me “go and wait there,†without giving me the form. She did not ask for “chai†or “sodaâ€.
I squeezed myself into the crowd.
Visibly, everyone looked confused, not knowing what next. After about 15 minutes the lady said, “Mugende wali wa ggulu†(Go up there).
We streamed up the stairs to see the doctors. Another nightmare! The crowd of men, women, children, youth and grandees had grown to about 150. Many of us were standing because the benches were filled up. Here, if you are cool, you cannot manage.
One has to be sharp and tussle it out with the crowd. That means being able to jump the line and forcing one’s way to see the doctor first. Often the ‘first come first serve’ rule is not followed.
The workers assume that everybody knows which point to go to next. So they never bother to guide patients. Some patients get lost and stranded.
Beside me was an emaciated old man. His shirt was dirty. Sitting on a bench and clutching a walking stick, he was leaning forward with the face down to his knees.
The rattling cough inside his chest evoked sympathy. By 10.30am, after I had spent one-and-a-half hours in hospital, I entered the doctor’s room. By then more people had piled up. Some patients were shivering and visibly in bad condition, but it was survival for the fittest. Inside Room 4.10, a smartly dressed official, with a slightly bulging belly, sat behind a busy table. I could not tell whether he was a medical assistant or a doctor. He was too fast and did not allow me to explain my sickness in-depth.
The notes he jotted down on the pink laboratory request form was hardly legible. The lab assistant in Room 5.02 had to consult his colleagues to make sense of what was written on the lab request form.
It took me 40 minutes to wait for the results. There were 36 other people waiting for their results. “No mps seen.â€
After the final consultation I hurried over to the hospital’s pharmacy. I had been in the hospital for nearly four hours, it was already lunchtime and there was a long queue.
How disappointing! The lady dispenser told me the drugs were not there. She instead asked me to buy the drugs from a pharmacy.
At this point, I strayed into Ward 2B, where I found an accident victim who had spent more than sh50,000 to buy medicines in town. For fear of repercussions, he declined to disclose his name. “When a poor person falls sick, he is left at the mercy of God,†he said.
By the time I left Mulago at 3.05pm, I was dejected for spending six hours only to walk out empty-handed.
The only consolation was that I was not sick. I walked to Vine Pharmacy in Wandegeya, and the dispenser could not make out the prescription, which was in bad handwriting.
Such is the nightmare that hundreds of patients go through at the Mulago National Referral Hospital daily.