A doctor's life: Too-bâ

It was an hour before midnight when a commotion was heard at the entrance of the hospital. A group of apparently drunk guys were noisily carrying someone in. The patient was reeking with the smell of tubâ (fermented coconut sap) admixed with the other contents of his stomach. There was no doubt that he was inebriate and was unable to walk on his own. One thing horrific about his condition was a huge gash on the left cheek with a steady spurt of blood coming from the gap that had the same rhythm as his heart beat. A severed arteriole - a direct branch of the carotid artery no doubt, and if left unchecked would spell death in a matter of minutes.

To make matters worse he refused to be treated, was incessantly talking and he kept throwing up. To add to our woes was the fact that there was no power - no lights. Time was running out and the only thing that would allow me to stop the bleeding was to tie the patient to the examining table, steady his knees, torso and head, wash away the vomitus while a flashlight was being held above to illuminate the operative field.

Imagine my face nearest to the patient's mouth to get a good focus of the wound and every now and then the patient would spit out the mush accumulating inside his mouth, and the spittle sprayed directly on my face, which was now littered with the vomitus and blood. There was no time to react to the patient's actions, because the only concern was to get to the severed arteriole and suture it shut. 

In a few minutes the job was done and the bleeding stopped. The patient was washed, dried and made to lie on the bed and he dozed off instantly. Morning came and the nurse found him gone, and attempts to locate him proved futile. Infection could be his greatest enemy then, but we hoped and prayed that he would survive.