My poor young brother-in-law Suleyman lay on the floor of a filthy hospital 'foyer' in Abidjan for three days, attended by his mother, who begged for help for him, while sleeping at his side day and night. None of the passing medics would pay any attention unless money was offered. She had none, and on the third afternoon he died in agony of (we think) cerebral malaria, still lying on the floor. He was fifteen. (This was before I met my husband)
I reckon many Third World folk would envy whatever sadly inefficient health care we have here. It's all relative isn't it?