After weeks of elaborate tests using very sophisticated health technologies, my diagnosis has been confirmed and I can begin my treatment. The first step in the treatment was surgery last Monday, only a few miles from my house. As part of the procedure, the surgeon made a six-inch long incision from my left ear to the center of my throat. To close it, he gave me zipper of temporary metal staples.
I can now claim to be the first in my family with body piercings, teenagers notwithstanding. The rest of the treatment will keep me from my day-to-day duties at VillageReach for about three months. At the end of which, however, my prognosis is for a full recovery and I will be back at my desk by early summer. That’s because I live in a high-income country where quality healthcare is readily accessible – at the Fortunate Last Mile. But for billions of people living in low-income countries where access to quality healthcare is scarce, my same diagnosis would be a death sentence. As we all know, life isn’t fair. But that’s just one more reason those of us living at the Fortunate Last Mile need to work to address the inequities in access to quality healthcare for those living at the Not-So-Fortunate Last Mile.
Allen Wilcox