A teenage boy sat in the shade of the emergency department, his shoulders draped with a red plaid sheet. His feet sported distinctive Maasai sandals cut from old tire treads. He had been an inpatient of the hospital long before my arrival. My first time caring for him in the OR was for a washout of his septic knee. He had dark spots on the soles of his feet: Janeway lesions. My brain dug up this telltale sign for endocarditis that I diligently memorized in medical school – just one of many instances in Tanzania where I encountered something that I had previously only read about.
Despite rounding on him daily and providing anesthesia for him on multiple occasions, I had maintained my distance. Instead of making an effort to connect, I busied myself with academic pursuits. I had brought a hand-held ultrasound with plans to perform perioperative evaluations. His...
