To understand the strength of a fellow human being, you don’t have to enter a wrestling match; you only have to observe how the men and women in a hospital heal patients.

The following is the magnanimity of human nature explained in a nutshell. This story is not fiction or hearsay. These are compelling comments on humanity, bravery, strength, life, and sadly, death, I witnessed firsthand recently during my three-day stay in Ward 61 at the Anuradhapura Teaching Hospital for fever, chest pain,  buildup of fluid in the space around my heart, and a few other problems. This hospital has been a medical outpost since its inception in the 1950s. However, after it became a teaching hospital, the whole institution gained wide recognition and gave new meaning to all things health in the region. It is the third largest hospital in Sri Lanka.

Now, its Wards are not just numbers; they distribute the highest brands of medical expertise. They are not your run-of-the-mill half-walled hospital Wards, but bursting with knowledge Hippocrates worked all his life to master.

Wards 61 and 62 are Professorial Wards served by devoted, brilliant men and women of the highest medical learning and authority. They make these places sacred by healing. Descendants of Dhanvantari (doctor to Devas) and Saint Sebastian (Saint of Medicine) take turns to walk the hallways here with stethoscopes dangling in their hands. White-crowned nurses attend and show kindness to patients as if they were their children.

I was in the High Dependency Unit (HDU) of Ward 61 with three other patients who were attached to electronic monitors, which provided nonstop beeping symphonies to my tired ears. Before long, I thought I was sitting in the orchestra pit of an opera house, where musicians were tuning their instruments before the start of the show. This whole time, my wife, Niranjala, the angel of angels, held my hand, helping me with soothing words to ease my pain and worries.

We watched nurses light up the Ward, walking among beds with purposeful and determined faces, talking and listening, offering soothing words to patients in various states of pain and suffering.

Meanwhile, inside the HDU, two young men wearing short-sleeved shirts and sarongs were standing by the beds of the two elderly patients, their fathers, who were in a sedated state. One father had ingested poison, and the other had advanced liver failure, a common health issue in the North Central province.

When I dozed off and woke up later in the middle of the night, a team of nurses gathered around one of these patients, holding various medical items in their raised hands. One was pushing an Artificial Manual Breathing Unit (AMBU) like the bellows at a smithy.  Every so often, she wiped the sweat off her forehead. The patient’s son stood at a far corner, watching this determined group of strangers trying to save his father’s life. As this life’s drama unfolded, the other man held his father’s hand and watched in stunned and palsied silence.

We would never know the unfathomable weight of the hearts of the two men watching their fathers fight for their lives. That night, these young men were the two loneliest people on the planet.

At dawn, I saw the father they were trying to save lying alone on his bed, wrapped in blankets from head to toe. His overhead electronic screen had gone dark, and the tubing hanging lifeless above the headstand.  Life had the rendezvous with its nemesis, and death won.

A few hours later, the son came to pick up his father’s items from the nurse.  As we made eye contact, I nodded my heartfelt thoughts to him.

Doctor-fledglings ready to fly out

Next, as the Ward woke up, my eyes caught a heartening moment you would not see in any other work environment.  A tall pedagogue, probably in his late 50s and athletic-looking, led a group of young men and women clad in deep, turquoise-shaded trousers and short-sleeved shirts. They earnestly listened to him while holding notebooks and stethoscopes on their bosoms.

With each step he takes, these young men and women, medical students at the Rajarata University Medical School, follow suit in unison. The tall figure with crew-cut hair is Professor of Medicine, Sisira Siribaddana, a giant of a man of academic standing.  He has crossed oceans of medical expertise. Teaching students and treating patients are two inevitably tough propositions. He is one of the busiest doctors/teachers around here. But his articulation was appealing and mesmerized the students, who watched as if they were listening to a Himalayan Irshi.

The students followed the professor through the Ward like a flock of goslings following the mother goose who led them to shore.

Little did they know, soon they would be on their own. They will not have the pleasure of flying in formation like a skein on holidays and on outings on weekends you and I take for granted. They will become fully-fledged lifesavers, often sleeping in converted staff rooms in the hospital while on call or floating alone in turbulent spells of medical winter blizzards.

Amid their study sessions, these fledgling doctors also return to continue looking after the patients late into the night. Time of day is not an issue for them. They are cued by impeccable dedication to patients and show superlative energy for observing and learning, embodying the demands and responsibilities of the job they will soon be charged with outside the comfort under the eyes of the professors.

Even after going home this time around, the patients know that whatever future ailments they will get, they are in good hands.  What these medical students try to learn is all under our skin – unseen, entwined with hundreds of potential disorders in the limitless and complex miracle we call our all-scented and well-groomed bodies.  Unlike engineers who rarely touch water for fear of electrocution, these students read and interpret blood and other body fluids.  They study what boils under our skin. They count the pulse because it matters to them as much as to their patients. These future doctors become so good at what they do that by the time we, the patients, are ready to go home, they have seen through us enough to write our biographies by heart.

Tutored by a cognoscente of Jeewaka pedigree, they will do just fine because they are also the cream of the cream and earned the right and honour to follow the footsteps of Siribaddana-class of great teachers.  With the earnest look on their faces, we have nothing to fear. Professor Siribaddana and his academic colleagues will prepare them to hit the road to medical miracles like flashes of a just-offloaded fleet of Lexuses.

I am helpless searching for words to express my appreciation to Professor Sisira Siribaddana, Senior Professor and Chair of Medicine,  Drs. Isuru Ahesh, Priyadharshan, Sampavi Ramanan in Ward 61, and Dr. Arulkumar Jegavanthan, one of the cardiologists in the hospital, for the excellent medical care they rendered to me.

Nurses and Other Staff

The nursing staff’s immaculate service furthers the doctors’ mission. Nurses and the minor staff are the other pieces of the backbone of this Ward. They hold this place together, preventing it from drifting into chaos. They encourage and offer kind words to dejected patients.

These nurses are in a marathon to win together.  They are regular folks like you and me. They are fathers and mothers, often with two or three kids, constantly worrying about whether the kids came home from school or tuition classes and had dinner. I know it. My niece, Uditha, a nurse in this hospital, has two kids. While at work, I know how much she worries about her preschooler daughter and the 9-month-old son at home.  Then there are young nurses just out of nursing school yearning for the time to be out with a cupid.

Patience in nurses is a remarkable science that somebody must teach in schools and public counters in government offices.  Nursing vocabulary does not have the word “tiredness.” Never angry, never in haste, they exude unmatched professionalism and kindness. Those in other government offices must emulate the work ethic of these men and women. They are our Florence Nightingales. They are healers in our midst. Next time you see someone you know as a nurse standing on the bus or in a queue at the bank, get up and give her the seat or step aside and offer her the place in the line. She has earned every inch of that space much more than anyone in that place. If you fail to do it, I think you must seek counseling help.

Hospital Needs Immediate Attention.

Yet, some things here need immediate attention. The central air conditioning system of this multi-story building is out of commission for some time, and its lorry-sized condenser and compressor unit sit in the open garden, uncovered, lifeless, and decaying.  Its inert ducts hang on the ceiling like fossilised long-necked dinosaurs. Some suspect that rat infestation has infiltrated the duct system.  During this time of the year, the dry zone sun is on the job full force, and without working air conditioners, rooms are hot like incubators.  Patients take the brunt of the heat punishment.

In contrast, what I found elsewhere a few weeks later completely flabbergasted me. I was in a 17-storey government building (not a hospital) in Battaramulla, near Colombo.  In this building, the central air conditioning system worked flawlessly, so it felt like its ducts system drew air directly from the Arctic Circle.

Decaying Condenser and Compressor Units

Immediately after my discharge from the hospital, Niranjala and I asked Professor Siribaddana if there was anything we could donate to the Ward. Having experienced the intolerable heat firsthand, we discussed the inconvenience that patients go through due to a lack of air conditioning in the HDU.  We got his consent to donate two air conditioning units for the HDU in Ward 61 and later to donate two more units to the  HDU in its sister Ward 62, which hosts female patients.  We are happy that the four LG 18000BTU air conditioning units we donated are now working, providing much-needed relief to critical patients housed in the HDUs. Sadly, this building has more Wards and units without air conditioning. I hope that by bringing this issue to light, relevant authorities will take immediate steps, or any benefactors out there will think of providing some relief.

Furthermore, hospital staff are taking proactive steps to improve the hospital’s working environment. For example, recently, after considering the safety and convenience of the doctors on call in the Wards, Professor Siribaddana and his colleagues in the two Wards purchased air conditioners with their own money and installed them in two rooms previously used for storage. They converted it into rooms for on-call doctors to stay overnight. Now, after work, the on-call doctors do not have to step outside into the dark, deserted streets tethered to predatory elements. The consultants in the Department coming out with a creative and indispensable gesture to resolve this dire situation is a noble act.

When Niranjala and I visited the library upstairs with Dr. Hemal Senanayake, the Head of the Department of Medicine, we walked past the 250-seat auditorium. There, we saw the seat covers of nearly all chairs torn away and the exposed cushion foam falling apart and dissolving into pieces. We hope the authorities fix this problem soon. Meanwhile, we heard a generous group recently equipped the auditorium with air conditioning facilities.

After I left the Ward, I returned to Ward 61 twice daily, a few times, to get my antibiotic through IV.   By now, I have begun to miss the staff here. This is a government hospital. Its hallway walls may not have mounted George Keyts reproductions or framed pictures of cherubic babies with adoring smiles.   But the weight and pains of ordinary people from all walks of life beautify its floors and corridors.

Actor Robin Williams, playing British/American neurologist Oliver Sacks in the 1990 movie Awakenings, declared, “The human spirit is more powerful than any other drug.” I found the doctors, nurses, and other minor staff in Wards 61 and 62 surely fostering this attribute, the cornerstone of any healing facility. Thus, I would not hesitate to return to Ward 61 for a second tour, because I trust these people with my life.

by Lokubanda Tillakaratne