This month we are conducting an intensive campaign in the 21 villages of our health outreach programme to detect new cases of TB following a spurt in the incidence of the disease among newly returned migrant workers. This however sometimes adds a little surreality to my life.
Picture a bearded lab technician, a thin young doctor and an elderly Malavasi woman who is the local health auxiliary driving through the Avalur valley on a motorcycle. We stop at a house where the health auxiliary says she swears the man coughs a lot. He is not at home but has gone out with his goats. So the health auxiliary sets off down the road calling you his name while we sputter along behind her on the bike. Suddenly there is an answering call from up ahead. Soon an elderly man comes into view.
"Do you cough a lot, Aiya?", I ask as I dismount the bike. "Not really", he says, "But I occasionally have shooting pains down the side of my leg." "No cough? No fever? No weight loss?", I persist. "No, just leg pain", he replies. "He does cough", says the health auxiliary testily, possibly upset that her find is no longer allowing her prove that she has indeed surveyed the village for people with possible symptoms of TB. "Well, I occasionally cough at night", he finally admits. He soon finds himself sitting side-saddle on our motorcycle which is parked on the middle of the road while I auscultate his chest. The lab technician mutters darkly about the value of time. "Can you give us some sputum to test?", I ask. "I don't want a plastic cup", he says, viewing the proffered sputum cup suspiciously, "But if you have medicines for my leg pain I will surely take that."
Picture a bearded lab technician, a thin young doctor and an elderly Malavasi woman who is the local health auxiliary driving through the Avalur valley on a motorcycle. We stop at a house where the health auxiliary says she swears the man coughs a lot. He is not at home but has gone out with his goats. So the health auxiliary sets off down the road calling you his name while we sputter along behind her on the bike. Suddenly there is an answering call from up ahead. Soon an elderly man comes into view.
"Do you cough a lot, Aiya?", I ask as I dismount the bike. "Not really", he says, "But I occasionally have shooting pains down the side of my leg." "No cough? No fever? No weight loss?", I persist. "No, just leg pain", he replies. "He does cough", says the health auxiliary testily, possibly upset that her find is no longer allowing her prove that she has indeed surveyed the village for people with possible symptoms of TB. "Well, I occasionally cough at night", he finally admits. He soon finds himself sitting side-saddle on our motorcycle which is parked on the middle of the road while I auscultate his chest. The lab technician mutters darkly about the value of time. "Can you give us some sputum to test?", I ask. "I don't want a plastic cup", he says, viewing the proffered sputum cup suspiciously, "But if you have medicines for my leg pain I will surely take that."
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