1/6As a surgeon, my scalpel, my knife is my weapon. I wield it with care and consideration; to “repair” and heal. As my knife cuts, the blood it draws is a reminder of the responsibility I have, to respect my patient; to preserve life. @DMazingi

2/6But lately, I have not been able to take up my scalpel. Instead, I have become a whisperer. I pull up a chair and whisper to the mother of my patient. We speak in hushed tones but the body language is unmistakable. It shows despair; resignation, defeat. @MoHCCZim

3/6I whisper to the mother of my patient, whose beautiful daughter has survived the agony of chemotherapy. We cannot operate. The hospital is in “emergency mode”. She hesitantly asks, “will the cancer not get worse?” @SaveChildrenZIM @TungamiraiGwat1

4/6I take a breath; tell her the truth. The longer we wait, the greater the chances that the cancer will spread & after that become inoperable.The hospital is in “emergency mode” &her daughter with a raging cancer, briefly held at bay by chemotherapy, has to wait @WHO_Zimbabwe

5/6My scalpel is an instrument of healing. My little toddler friend who follows me around the ward. She has Wilms tumour. A curable childhood cancer. But this has become a waiting ward. An indefinite wait. A mother’s agony @SeniorDoctors

6/6A distressed mother looks to me. She is grateful that her baby got an essential scan but now she asks when will we operate? I can offer her no respite. The hospital is in “emergency mode”.All I can do is trade my scalpel for a keyboard.

@WOFAPS