Making little progress to Millennium Development Goals 4 and 5 for maternal and child health: a personal perspective from Uganda

“Most maternal deaths could be avoided.”

The Millennium Development Goals Report, 20101

“Where we are now in terms of health service delivery should be measured against where we have come from and not where we ideally should be. A lot of progress has been made.”

Mary L Nannono, Permanent Secretary at Uganda’s Ministry of Health, 20082

The Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) report published in June 20101 shows that the targets to reduce maternal and child deaths will not be met, particularly in sub-Saharan Africa. Uganda is an east African country committed to achieving MDG 4 (the goal to improve child survival) and MDG 5 (the goal to improve maternal health). In recent years, there has been much work to improve Ugandan antenatal and neonatal care, scaling up emergency obstetric care services and child health policies. However, progress remains slow and, at current standards, Uganda is unlikely to attain the MDG 4 and 5 objectives (Box).3 Why has there been insufficient progress? What happens when mothers and children come to hospital?

I am an Australian doctor training in paediatrics under the Royal Australasian College of Physicians. I also intend to train in anaesthesia. I decided to take a year-long break from the training scheme to do humanitarian aid work in a developing country, and I am now coming to the end of a 6-month sabbatical in Uganda. This personal perspective on paediatric and obstetric care provision in Uganda aims to illustrate some of the stumbling blocks in practice that are limiting progress towards the MDGs in maternal and child health.

My time in Uganda was divided between the obstetric operating theatre of the National Referral Hospital in Kampala, and responsibility for a paediatric ward in rural Uganda at a not-for-profit mission hospital, run jointly by the local Catholic diocese and an international non-government organisation. Every morning on arrival at the obstetric theatre I was greeted by women waiting, lining up in the entrance hall or lying on plastic sheets on the floor of the ward, contracting in pain. All needed emergency caesarean sections. However, each woman waited in turn for her operation or spontaneous delivery, whichever came first. When her turn came, the patient would walk into theatre and struggle onto the operating table with minimal assistance, pausing only for a grunt or grimace during a contraction.

My first day at the Kampala hospital theatre was particularly disappointing — six emergency caesarean sections resulted in two fresh stillbirths, one macerated stillbirth and two admissions to the special-care baby unit. We hand-ventilated one baby for an hour because there was no mechanical ventilator. Later that afternoon, the baby stabilised on continuous positive airway pressure, but died overnight. My colleagues and I decided to undertake a 1-month audit to review maternal and neonatal outcomes: were there avoidable delays for emergency caesarean sections, and could anything be done about them? The maternal mortality rate in my sample of 435 was 1%, the stillbirth rate was close to 7% (equivalent to the hospital’s 1968 rates14) and mothers waited on average for 5 hours for the emergency procedure. Reasons for delays included staff unavailability, a lack of running water, a non-functional autoclave (and hence no sterile drapes and gowns), and no spinal needles or drugs for spinal anaesthesia. As a result of the audit, the hospital expedited the building of two new obstetric and gynaecological operating theatres and undertook to ensure that highly qualified and experienced staff ran them.

Mothers are advised to bring a delivery pack when they come to hospital — not a dressing gown, slippers and baby clothes, but their own cannulae, sterile swabs, suture materials and 10 packets of sterile gloves, in case the hospital supply runs out. During my second week, a woman in her seventh pregnancy joined the section queue. Her indication for surgery was obstructed labour at 38 weeks gestation, with a “poor obstetric history” that translated as six previous stillbirths. She waited patiently in line but when it was her turn there were no gloves in stock and she had brought only one packet. She waited while women with gloves had their procedures. Her blank emotionless expression when the surgeons told her over the drapes that her baby was stillborn will remain with me forever. How can this hospital function as a comprehensive emergency obstetric care provider when caesarean section priority relates to the number of gloves the patient can supply rather than the underlying urgency of surgery?

My responsibility for a 23-bed children’s ward (often with two to three patients per bed) in rural Uganda also brought me many challenges. At this hospital, one difficult day started with a mother in obstructed labour who delivered her baby with shoulder dystocia. During our attempt to resuscitate the baby, there was a power failure and, as there was no fuel for the back-up generator, the oxygen concentrator did not work. The oxygen cylinders were empty, so there was no oxygen in the hospital. Sadly, we were unable to save the baby. The same day, a 4-day-old twin died of jaundice because our phototherapy machine was broken and the parents could not afford to travel to another hospital. Then the mother decided to discharge herself from hospital with her surviving twin, also jaundiced and on intravenous antibiotics, and consult a traditional healer.

I remember a 3-year-old patient referred from a larger regional centre to our rural hospital for a blood transfusion because there was “no blood available”. The child’s haemoglobin level was 2 g/dL and she was in severe respiratory distress. I was confused by the cross-match form and unit number noted in her case notes, yet the clearly documented reason for transfer was “no blood available”. The mother reported that, while she and her daughter were at the regional centre, another child, as sick as her own, had arrived whose need for the blood, already crossed-matched for our patient, was decided to be the more urgent because his or her mother could contribute money.

As health care practitioners, we make decisions that are generally evidence based and (hopefully) in the patient’s best interests. A premature neonate, with a gestational age of 27 weeks, had been labelled a “fighter” after surviving 3 days on only a whiff of oxygen. This was going to be a success story for Africa — the survival of a premature baby. One night, a 6-month-old boy presented in severe respiratory distress when the oxygen concentrator was away being repaired and the only oxygen cylinder that wasn’t empty (it was one-quarter full) was with the fighter, who hadn’t tolerated a trial on room air. Reluctant to take oxygen away from her, I told the mother of the boy that I had done all I could. He died 3 hours later and I could hear the mother wailing from my room. The next day, the condition of the fighter on oxygen therapy suddenly deteriorated and I was unable to revive her. Had I made the wrong decision? Hindsight is a torment for one’s conscience. However, the oxygen dilemma prompted us to adapt the oxygen tubing so that two children could receive low-flow oxygen at the same time.

When I received my first Ugandan arrest call, I ran to the bedside. Almost 5 minutes after I arrived, the suction and some monitoring equipment appeared. Oxygen was not available until later and we also had to wait for resuscitation drugs. The outcome was poor, both for the patient and my confidence. After my third resuscitation call, I didn’t run any more. I walked “mpola mpola” (slowly, slowly) with the rest of the team — arrests are difficult to manage without basic equipment, and usually fatal because of delayed treatment.

So far I have painted a somewhat bleak picture, but there were good days and successes. A 6-week-old girl was brought in severely malnourished, weighing 2 kg with sepsis and malaria. The good Samaritan who had picked her up as a newborn from the roadside after the mother abandoned her was feeding her cow’s milk. After antibiotics, antimalarials and commencing our formula feeding program, the child gained weight and even started to smile. Also heartening, and something that has constantly amazed me, is the resilience and good humour of the staff, who do their best with what is available. However, when I read in the local newspaper that the World Health Organization’s Making Pregnancy Safer program is to be extended, and more mothers will be encouraged to give birth in hospital, I remember all the critical events that I have witnessed. Surely this advice will not lead to improved outcomes while there is such a disparity between demand and supply, between concept and reality. Reliable running water and electricity; hospital supplies like basic disposables, oxygen, and blood for transfusion; and adequate staffing and staff training are essential requirements for emergency obstetric and paediatric care. My story highlights that if basic hospital facilities were improved and some systemic delivery deficiencies overcome, more progress towards the MDGs 4 and 5 in Uganda and all of sub-Saharan Africa would be made. Ensuring that 90 per cent of African mothers and newborns have access to the essential interventions already written into policy would cost a very affordable US$1.39 per capita.15

“All needed an emergency caesarean section. However, each woman waited in turn for her operation or spontaneous delivery, whichever came first.”

“My responsibility for a 23-bed children’s ward (often with two to three patients per bed) in rural Uganda also brought me many challenges.”

Communication, Ugandan style!