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Sixteen
Eric
Ifinish applying anothercrude cast to the wrist of a sixteen-year-old who jumped off a roof, for whatever reason, and my phone rings.
“Clive, could you finish?” I ask.
He rushes over and takes the last of the material, wrapping it around the kid’s arm. I wipe my wet hands on my scrubs and pull out my phone. It’s a U.S. number.
“Eric Andrews,” I answer.
“Hello, Mr. Andrews,” says a female voice. “This is Stacy with Anco Pharmaceuticals. I have Mr. Anco on the line for you. Please hold.”
My stomach flips with excitement. It was a week ago I’d made all those phone calls.
“Mr. Andrews, how are you?” he asks.
“I’m good, sir. I’m glad you called me back.”
“You had some questions about chemotherapy drugs for your project there in Kenya?” he asks.
“Yes, we are in dire need. Do you donate?”
“Yes, we donate all over the world to the less fortunate. In fact, Stacy is handing me the numbers right now.” I hear a paper crinkling. “Let’s see here... We sent hundreds of doses to Kenya two weeks ago. Did you not get them?”
I rub my hand along the back of my neck. “I don’t think so. All I know is we don’t have any here. I mean, it’s possible it all got distributed to the main hospital there. But I’m in a small village clinic outside of the main city.”
“Can you go there and ask them for some?”
“I did, last week, they said they had none to spare. So I told them I was sending my patient there then. I can’t sit here and watch this twelve-year-old die a slow death.”
He pauses, and says, “I understand. Tell you what, after I vouch for you—because we have to, you see—I’ll have another batch sent over addressed to you personally. I don’t know what the postal system is like over there, but you may want to meet the shipment yourself. I can have Stacy send you exact estimated delivery times, if that helps.”
“That would be very helpful. Can you spare any morphine, fentanyl, or Demerol as well? We are very low and have to ration it, which is obviously heartbreaking to watch people in pain. Especially children.”
“I’ll definitely look into it. I’ll patch you back to Stacy and she can get your email and other information, okay?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Anco. The people here will be so grateful.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for what you do over there. It takes a special person to be so selfless and dedicate their time and sacrifice a salary to do that.”
Well, I don’t deserve to be comfortable.
I swallow hard. “Appreciate it, sir.”
After Stacy gets back on the line, I give her my information and hang up, breathing a sigh of relief.
I go back to my broken wrist patient. His face is twisted in pain, and because it’s not as dire as some, I offer him ibuprofen and hope that will help for a few hours.
He swallows the pills. “Thanks, Dak. How long I wear this?” He holds up the cast.
