Farenji Blood

I think this is the first time that I (Erin that is) am telling a medical story. But I’ve decided that this is a worthwhile one to tell. The story begins with a young girl who is very ill with malaria. And it ends as Jeff straps a bag of his own blood to the roof of our car.

But I’m clearly getting ahead of myself. You see, the girl’s hemoglobin reading—that is a measure of the number of red blood cells in her body—was 3. For others like me, who have no idea what this means, most people’s normal level is 4 times this amount. A patient in the US will receive a blood transfusion if his level is below 7 (and sometimes even at levels of 8 or 9). It was therefore clear that a blood transfusion was needed or her life was in danger. But like so many things here in Ethiopia, the process of receiving blood is not an easy one. There is no Red Cross here, no blood banks, no ready supply of safe blood waiting at the hospital in case someone needs it. A patient’s only option is to immediately find a donor (most likely a family member) who matches their blood type. If no donor can be found, then a patient is, sadly, out of luck.

Our nearby referral hospital is able to test blood types and transfer blood between family members. In this case, the child’s only available family member was her father. And so, soon after receiving the hemoglobin results, Jeff packed up the child and her father and drove 45 minutes to the hospital to have their blood checked.

The hospital tested their blood. It did not match.

As he’s wondering what to do next, Jeff looks at the results. The child’s blood type is A positive. Jeff’s blood type is A positive. And, then, he had his answer. Within minutes, Jeff had a needle in his arm and a bag full of his own blood to give to the child. If the story ended here, it would be an interesting examination of the differences between caring for your patients here in Ethiopia vs. in the US. We would discuss the implications of literally giving your own blood to save a patient’s life. Is this part of the Hippocratic oath? Or is there a different, deeper oath? An oath that one takes when caring for others… others with no other option.

Luckily, we don’t have to ponder these questions today. Because, again, like so many things here in Ethiopia, events quickly turned from the profound to the downright absurd. You see, it was getting late and we are unable to drive on the roads after dark. The bag of Jeff’s blood had just been attached to the child’s arm and it could be hours before it all drained into his body. The child and his father couldn’t be left at the hospital where they had no money to pay the bill or means of traveling home. And so it was decided that the child must be loaded into the car. Jeff’s bag of blood was secured to the roof to maintain the blood flow into her arm.

Then the head of the hospital, a jolly heavyset man of about 50, came sauntering out of his office. He took a look at the car and the bag of blood tied to the roof. A slightly sinister glint shown in his eye. “Farenji Blood!” he said with a smile, as the car slowly pulled away.