My First Ever Patient

Langere Village, Buton Island, Indonesia

May 2024

It was a bright Saturday morning in Langere village, yet the sunshine disguised the gloom of what awaited me as I reached the community of sea gypsies of the Bajo tribe. The hour-long boat ride from Buton island, while scenic, masked the underlying problem that plagued Langere village, access to healthcare, one midwife stationed for the whole village’s health. Nevermind though, I strutted with pomp as a newly minted doctor.

Then there I sat, rested atop the seaside mangroves, ardently anticipating my first ever patient as a licensed medical doctor. An elderly man trudged across the fragile wooden floor that creaked with each subtle movement. His right eye was covered, yet its distinctive scent could not be. His expression was visibly embarrassed, only after a gentle touch and a reassuring smile, did he uncover his eye. Periorbital abscess. Intermittent fever, an early sign of sepsis, added fuel to the fire. I irrigated his disfigured pus-drenched eyelids with what little equipment I had, the gnawing pain growing unbearable every few seconds or so. Antibiotics and some pain medications were prescribed, but that would only delay the inevitable. He needed care from an ophthalmologist, the nearest one being 8 hours away by sea, with travel costs too heavy for him to bear. So he waited and waited, but sepsis waits for no one. He passed due to the inability to access quality healthcare, a human right by the country’s decree. It rained heavily on my trip back, as I pondered if my training was of any use. A medical degree from a reputable medical school, electives from South Korea and Europe, ample research experience, yet death to my first ever patient. My medical training had prepared me to treat infections, but not injustice.