NHI: Nurses work miracles despite lack of resources

So a friend who really, really wanted to live for his eight-year-old daughter died.

He fought ferociously but lost. Egg will hardly remember her father.

I know. Been there, got the T-shirt. But magical number eight speaks to me.

Especially with children, whether they are Eggs or in their 30 eights.

Eight days later, I have to take my hat off – not you, Cupcake Cyril – to the state’s health carers.

My son, 38, and the universe’s number, survived being stabbed and kicked by a gang of five.

He admittedly spent nearly 48 hours in the trauma unit, but that’s the time needed with the little staff they have to get around to give the best they can.

And they gave their best with the lacking resources you leave them with.

ALSO READ: NHI: Business and medical organisations will still not sign Health Compact

Lacking, you ask, Cupcake? I wondered about that too. Because he got the X-rays, an MRI scan and a temporary splint – “all vital organs were missed by the knives but his smashed shoulder and snapped upper arm need an op”,

I hear before he was pushed to a ward – late, but rather two days later than never.

On the ninth day, the very competent surgeon at last got a theatre slot to fix the upper arm. The shattered shoulder will happen whenever.

So, Son doesn’t get a pillow – all stolen, we hear – so we took him two. But that’s why I have to open my car boot every time I leave after joining the 500 people having solitary visiting hours between three and five every day of the week: pillows disappear.

As do blankets I send with him; and food if your Tupperware “loses” its lid. And he never has coffee or tea: no hot drink, ever.

But I salute the nurses without kettles who push ICU patients into operating theatres during a power outage (it shouldn’t happen but still does, Cupcake).

ALSO READ: ANC adamant about implementing NHI, but three questions remain

Take note, just because that’s where they can find life support plugs. And he is sent home with a half-fix.

That I can deal with. But tell me how I deal with the anger bubbling forth the magical eight days later.

Where’s your NHI’s mental care, or must I stand in line for the University of Johannesburg’s impossibly inaccessibly busy trauma line because it’s free?

My anger stays, Cyril. I have an angry son but you have good people.

Hold up their arms before you spittle about NHI, ever…