Today was my first day observing surgeries at Friends Eye Hospital in Kotwi, Ghana. Unite for Sight supports local optometrists, ophthalmologists and ophthalmic surgeons. When interns come to Ghana, we participate in local outreaches and observe and account for surgeries being done. I'm not sure exactly what I expected from my first surgery day, but it was everything and more than I could have ever imagined.
Shortly after arriving, we were taking up 4 flights of stairs to the medical lounge where we
changed into scrubs. Outside of the OR (or surgical theatre) we donned hair-nets, face masks and clothes toed hospital shoes. When I was taken into the surgical theatre and there was a surgery already in progress. After a few minutes I started sweating and feeling nauseas so I went out to find a bathroom to cool off. When I got to the restroom I started tearing up and couldn’t figure out why. Then, I reflected on my experience and realized that I was really feeling for the patients. It really upset me when they looked nervous or afraid and/or if appeared as if they weren’t being told what was going on.
It ended up being a blessing that I felt nauseas, because I passed the surgery waiting room on the way back to the theatre and I had the opportunity to stop and greet every all the patients that were awake and waiting their turn for surgery. I wanted to make sure that everyone could greet a familiar face before the OR, so when they came in they could feel familiarity and comfort. While I was back in the operating room, my nausea dissipated and I watched the rest of the surgeries with no issue.
As I witnessed patients waiting for their turn on the hospital bed, I would go over and stroke their hand so they knew someone was thinking of them and not just talking about them to other doctors. I wanted them to feel listened to and understood whether we spoke the same language or not.
Then, I started tearing up and crying in the OR. And while I was crying, all I could think of was, “this is not sterile, this is not sterile,” and
i tried to keep my tears from getting on anything. What actually made me cry though was the joy I felt in my heart, and seeing literally hope being restored into people's eyes.
I reflected back on my grandmother and her near blindness before passing, and I felt her in the room saying, “thank you for helping my people.” Every Ghanian grandmother I see resembles her and I feel her so strongly here. I left the surgeries a little early so I could get my emotions in check a bit, and I rotated with another intern. So now I am upstairs in the staff lounge on the floor writing this because it was such a powerful experience I needed to make sure I shared every moment fully. This day truly could not have been more impactful.
After taking a break upstairs, I talked with one of the other interns about my experience and felt inspired to go back downstairs and talk again with the patients waiting for surgery. I introduced myself and began speaking in extremely limited, broken Twi. I introduced myself, “ye freme Efia Ebroni” (some people have given me the nickname “Efia Gabriella” which means Friday-born Gabrielle or white person (Ebroni)) and “me free, Washington D.C. USA.” (Meaning, I am from). People love when you try to speak the language. Just learning simple phrases like, “my name is,” “I am from,” basic greetings and salutations makes a huge difference when trying to connect with people. In Ghana, when people first meet you they will ask you your name, and usually they are asking for the day of the week you were born on.
They have 14 names, 7 male and 7 female names that correspond with each day of the week. So since I was born on a Friday, my Ghanian “name” is Efia. A man who was Friday-born would have a different name.
Anyways, I practiced my Twi with the patients and family members waiting for surgery. We talked about Jollof rice, groundnut soup and other foods, and I asked them to take me home with them so we could pound fufu and banku. We laughed and laughed and laughed.
I continued talking with them until they went into the surgical prep room, where I noticed one of the older women getting increasingly more nervous. The surgical nurses prepping her were asking her to be still and calm down, but were having a hard time, so I reached around the nurses arm and held the woman’s hand. Again, she reminded me so much of my grandmother. I could tell she was still nervous, so I sat with her, held her hand and sang her songs from the musical Hamilton. When I was singing “Dear Theodosia” and “It’s Quiet Uptown” the prep room got quiet and the woman and man next to her stared and smiled. I asked if the woman wanted me to go into surgery with her and she said yes. So when her time came, I accompanied her in the surgical theatre, held her hand the entire time and sang Christian songs to her. The doctor had Christian music playing on his iPhone and I sang her the ones I knew while the surgeon sang along.
It was fascinating to see the way the doctor performed such meticulous and complex procedures, while casually humming or singing, or talking with other people. It was so captivating.
After the woman’s surgery was finished, she sat right up and walked herself out of the OR and disappeared; I didn’t see her again. I will never forget the way that she looked at me or clasped my hand as I sang to her in the OR. there was a feeling of gratitude and peace.
After patients got their surgeries, they would often praise God and thank the doctor. I remember one man coming in to get a second cataract removed after having the surgery on one eye. After the doctor finished his procedure, I distinctly remember the man lying flat on his back, looking straight towards the ceiling and a tear falling down the corner of his eye.
He thanked the doctor and praised God. It was so beautiful.
"Thanks you God."
