VIDEO | Mabakoena’s Story: A Mother’s Loss and a Fight for Answers

Staff reporter

Maseru – “I went to hospital to give birth. I came home without my baby, and with hands I could no longer recognise.”

This is the story of Mabakoena Seleso.

On 13 February, I went to Makonyane Military Hospital after I began experiencing labour pains. My husband works there, so that was where I went for help.

This is how her hands looked before amputation.

I arrived at around 2pm. I was examined and told that I was 2 centimetres dilated. The heartbeat of my baby was checked, but I was told that they could not hear it.

This is after amputation.

A doctor arrived about 30 minutes later and examined me. I was then told something that changed my life forever:

My baby was no longer alive.

I remained in hospital, enduring the pain of labour while knowing that the baby I had carried would not be going home with me.

At approximately 23:48, I gave birth to my stillborn baby.

I saw my baby.

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My family saw the baby.

Then they left.

I thought the worst thing I would ever have to experience was losing my child.

I was wrong.

The doctor told me that I would be monitored and discharged the following day.

Later that evening, I tried to get out of bed.

I fell.

That is the last thing I remember.

When I opened my eyes again, two days had passed.

I was in the ICU at Tshepong Hospital.

I did not know what had happened to me.

I did not know why I had been transferred.

I did not know why my hands looked different.

There were watery blisters on my hands.

I asked what had happened.

No one gave me the answers I was looking for.

My mother and my husband arrived and were also shocked by what they saw.

I was told that the problem was related to a drip.

Every day, when I woke up, I could see my hands changing.

They were getting worse.

My family became increasingly concerned.

When doctors from Makonyane came to check on me, my aunt asked what had happened.

We were told that it was an infection.

We asked:

What infection?

We wanted to know exactly what was happening to me. We wanted the cause to be investigated so that I could receive the right treatment.

But we did not receive a clear answer.

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Eventually, my family was told that my fingers needed to be removed because the condition was progressing upwards.

The word we were given was gangrene.

My mother was devastated.

She could not understand how her daughter had gone into hospital to give birth and had ended up in ICU with her hands deteriorating.

She pleaded for me to be taken to Bloemfontein for further assessment and treatment.

The request was refused.

The family was told that the outcome would be the same — that my fingers would still have to be amputated.

My mother then refused to consent to the surgery at that time.

She was asked to sign a form confirming that she was refusing the proposed surgery.

I was subsequently discharged.

And I went home.

But my problems did not end at the hospital door.

March

I spent the entire month of March at home with my hands in that condition.

I was grieving the loss of my baby.

At the same time, I was living with the fear of losing my fingers.

I did not know what had happened to me.

I did not know what had caused the condition.

And I did not know what my future would look like.

April — Searching for Answers

In April, I went to see a specialist because I desperately needed someone to explain what was happening to my hands.

The specialist consulted a PS and sent photographs of my hands.

After seeing the photographs, the PS instructed the specialist to take me to Tshepong Hospital immediately.

I went to Tshepong on a Sunday with my family.

But I was told that it was Sunday and that they only dealt with emergencies. I was told to return the following day.

So I returned the next morning.

This time, I was taken into a room with my family.

We were finally told that the condition was gangrene.

The following day, I was admitted.

And then came another devastating moment.

My fingers were amputated.

The surgery was performed by a doctor from Bloemfontein, who had assessed me and followed up with me before the operation.

I survived the surgery.

But I lost part of my hands.

And still, I had questions.

After I was discharged, I asked what exactly had happened to me.

I wanted to understand what had caused the condition.

I wanted to know why my hands had deteriorated.

I wanted to know why I had developed gangrene.

I wanted to understand how this had happened to me.

But I did not receive the answers I was looking for.

I was required to go for daily wound dressings.

I went to Makonyane Hospital, but I was told that they could not treat me because my case required attention at Tshepong.

So I went to Tshepong.

Again and again.

For dressings.

For treatment.

For help.

But to this day, my hands have still not properly healed.

I Am Asking for Help

I am only 24 years old.

I went to hospital expecting to give birth to my child.

Instead, I lost my baby.

Then, while I was still trying to process that loss, something happened to my hands that ultimately resulted in the loss of my fingers.

I am living with two enormous losses at once.

The loss of my child.

And the loss of part of my body.

But perhaps the most painful part is that I still do not fully understand what happened to me.

I am not asking people to judge anyone.

I am asking for help.

I need an independent medical assessment to establish what happened to my hands and why they deteriorated.

I need proper medical care and rehabilitation so that my hands can heal.

I need someone to help me understand my medical history and the treatment I received.

And I need help rebuilding my life.

I have already lost my baby.

I have already lost my fingers.

I do not want to lose my future too.

I am still young.

I still have dreams.

I still have a life ahead of me.

I just need someone to help me find a way forward.

If there are medical professionals, patient advocates, legal practitioners, organisations, charities, rehabilitation specialists or compassionate individuals who can assist Mabakoena with independent medical assessment, treatment, rehabilitation, legal guidance or other appropriate support, please come forward.

Mabakoena is not asking for pity.

She is asking for answers.

She is asking for treatment.

She is asking for dignity.

And above all, she is asking for a chance to rebuild her life.

Dear Minister of Health in Lesotho.

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Please help Mabakoena, she can be contacted on: ‪+266 5850 1511 or contact this publication +27685076731