“Help me!” whispered a young woman as she gripped my arm, her voice barely audible over the noise of the jostling crowd. It was a full year ago, during the eye-doctors’ annual visit. The hospital compound was buzzing with crowds from far and wide who had come to have eye problems treated. Her name was Catherine and she looked frightened and desperate. I’d helped several elderly people to get seen quickly, but this girl looked barely twenty.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, as her grip on my arm tightened. She showed me one eye that was closed and sunken. She moved closer to tell me, “Last year I had a cataract operation – but a few weeks later it went wrong. Help me to see the doctors so that they can fix it for me.”
I took her swiftly through to see Dr Pauline, who quickly saw that an infection had damaged the eye beyond repair. The only thing to do was to remove the original implant – but she would be permanently blind in that eye.
We were all very upset about the prospect. Catherine started to cry; she didn’t want to have another operation. By this time, Dr Pauline and I had tears in our eyes as well; fortunately, Hilde, one of the nurses, came to put an arm around Catherine and calmed the situation. It was all over in fifteen minutes. I summoned two bicycle-taxis and took her back home.
“She’s been miserable all year,” her brother said. “She’s 29 years old. Her husband left her saying she was no longer beautiful – alone with five children.” Their simple house was made from planks and stood on stilts in the riverbank mud. “She’ll have to be brave,” I said, not really knowing what to say. “Her life has taken a different path to the one she’d envisaged, but I’m sure she’ll do well.”
I didn’t see her again until this year. I took her to get her other eye checked. Fortunately it was in good condition. “I’m so down about the whole affair,” she confided. “Being left alone is a huge burden.”
She visited again, this time with her brother and a local politician. They started demanding compensation of £700 (which is a fortune here!).
During their five visits the eye doctors have performed 1,300 cataract operations – this is the only one that didn’t work out well. I felt as if she’d betrayed me ... I still had a lot of sympathy for her condition, but it had suddenly turned sour. I avoided them for over a week.
Eventually, she came back by herself. “Forgive me,” she said. “My brother and his politician friend are only looking to profit from my situation and I should never have allowed them to come along. If they phone you, just ignore them. All I’m looking for is a little money to survive on.”
“With a small amount of money, you could sell things,” I suggested.
“Yes,” she replied, “I’ll go along the river and buy fish to sell. There’s a boat coming next week, so please keep the money until then.”
We agreed an amount of £50. Catherine seemed very pleased.
“I’ll ask the good people of Middlesbrough Diocese to help us,” I added, thinking that I should try to pay for her children’s school fees as well.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, as her grip on my arm tightened. She showed me one eye that was closed and sunken. She moved closer to tell me, “Last year I had a cataract operation – but a few weeks later it went wrong. Help me to see the doctors so that they can fix it for me.”
I took her swiftly through to see Dr Pauline, who quickly saw that an infection had damaged the eye beyond repair. The only thing to do was to remove the original implant – but she would be permanently blind in that eye.
We were all very upset about the prospect. Catherine started to cry; she didn’t want to have another operation. By this time, Dr Pauline and I had tears in our eyes as well; fortunately, Hilde, one of the nurses, came to put an arm around Catherine and calmed the situation. It was all over in fifteen minutes. I summoned two bicycle-taxis and took her back home.
“She’s been miserable all year,” her brother said. “She’s 29 years old. Her husband left her saying she was no longer beautiful – alone with five children.” Their simple house was made from planks and stood on stilts in the riverbank mud. “She’ll have to be brave,” I said, not really knowing what to say. “Her life has taken a different path to the one she’d envisaged, but I’m sure she’ll do well.”
I didn’t see her again until this year. I took her to get her other eye checked. Fortunately it was in good condition. “I’m so down about the whole affair,” she confided. “Being left alone is a huge burden.”
She visited again, this time with her brother and a local politician. They started demanding compensation of £700 (which is a fortune here!).
During their five visits the eye doctors have performed 1,300 cataract operations – this is the only one that didn’t work out well. I felt as if she’d betrayed me ... I still had a lot of sympathy for her condition, but it had suddenly turned sour. I avoided them for over a week.
Eventually, she came back by herself. “Forgive me,” she said. “My brother and his politician friend are only looking to profit from my situation and I should never have allowed them to come along. If they phone you, just ignore them. All I’m looking for is a little money to survive on.”
“With a small amount of money, you could sell things,” I suggested.
“Yes,” she replied, “I’ll go along the river and buy fish to sell. There’s a boat coming next week, so please keep the money until then.”
We agreed an amount of £50. Catherine seemed very pleased.
“I’ll ask the good people of Middlesbrough Diocese to help us,” I added, thinking that I should try to pay for her children’s school fees as well.
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