A Glimpse of Hami Yawari

The people of Southern Highlands Province are probably still mourning the loss of one of its humble leaders, Mr. Hami Yawari. To lose an inspiring and influential figure is like the Palestinians losing Goliath, and if that is the only Goliath, its people will be scattered like a flocks of sheep without a shepherd. Fortunately there is Mr. Agiru to lead the province. Sheep however, tend to know their shepherd.  

I had a very short, yet a treasured glimpse of Mr. Yawari when I became his attending doctor at Emergency Department at Port Moresby General Hospital. He was known to have chronic renal failure, a fatal complication of uncontrolled diabetes.

   Apart from costing your life, it is a very expensive disease, in terms of money. To give you an idea, it costs about five to seven grand to have a single haemodialysis session at PIH (Pacific International Hospital), where your blood is diverted into a machine that will purify it from wastes, and return it to your body. Essentially it performs the function of the kidney, so you need at least two sessions per week to keep you alive!

   When my boss assigned me to take care of Mr. Yawari, I was very nervous. I’ve always had a hard time managing highly educated citizens, because of two reasons.

   Firstly, most expect a senior doctor, or a consultant to examine and treat them. So when interns like me try to treat them, many will ask, ‘Where is your boss?’ On one occasion, a very prominent government executive told me when I went to collect his blood: ‘This is the body of a fifty year old man you are playing up with!’ For goodness sake, I was trying to collect his blood to do certain blood tests to help him.

   Secondly, they ask a lot of questions. Of course that is good, because they have the right to know the advantages and disadvantages of everything we do on their body. But when I cannot answer a question, I would tell them that I don’t know, and would get my boss to answer that. Yet they would do things, or make gestures that really hurt psychologically, such that those simple procedures like inserting a cannula into their veins will fail!

   Reluctantly, I approached Mr. Yawari and his wife, greeted them and introduced myself. I then took his history and proceeded on to examination. He cooperated very well. I expected him to ask me for my boss, but he didn’t.

   After I formulated what his problem was, I started explaining to him what I think his conditions were. He listened very attentively. Then I explained the procedures I planned to do as part of my diagnostic and therapeutic interventions. He objected to none, and in fact offered his arm to me so I can insert an IV cannula and collect some bloods.

   All the while, he never asked for the consultant or even the registrar (a level higher than me, but lower than a consultant). But being very sick, I decided to get my boss to review him, to which he did.

   Not a word of complain proceeded from his mouth, nor a gesture of lack of confidence in me. Consequently, I gave him all my best, as an intern, and even prayed for him. I suggested to him that if he wanted his life to prolong, he needed an urgent dialysis. The next day, they transferred him to PIH, where he remained for a month till his untimely death.

   I mourned silently in my heart at the news of his passing away. But I thank God that He led me to Mr. Yawari to use him to teach me one meaning of humbleness: accepting those that are ignored and rejected. This was the one educated ‘big man’ that stooped so low as to allow an intern to manage him.

   It was just a glimpse of him, but one that is worth remembering! It was a contagious glimpse that infected me with humbleness!