A Death to Reckon with.
The doctor looked at the woman again; she was about turning hysterical on him. Her appearance made him think twice about saying what was on the tip of his lips. He could see the dryness in her eyes, her body told tales of loneliness, and he could hear heart beat. He looked away. Two nurses and an orderly wheeled by. His eyes were fixed on the white sheet; it was obvious that something lay underneath. The woman could not hold on any longer.
“Doctor, how is my husband!”
He looked at her again. He was sure he knew her from somewhere. She clutched two children close to her side: a boy and a girl; they fixed their sunken eyes to his face. The air felt tight, and he longed for more. It was as though the wallsdrew closer.
“His lungs gave up. I am….”
The woman’s loud wail swallowed his apology, and moved down through the hall way. It was the first time he felt sorry for the family member of a deceased but he didn’t know why. People died and got buried: life was a continuous process, they always told him while growing up at the orphanage.
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He looked at her children; he wondered where their mother would take them to live, since their father was no more: withdrawn from school, stay home or hawk goods on the highways, like those one that stained his side mirror with ripe banana and plantain. As the nurses got the young woman calm, Doctor Effiong left them and went back to his office.
The Discovery
Doctor Effiong sat on his desk, but could do nothing. He felt disturbed. He pulled at the drawer on his left hand side; his arm disappeared and came up with a big bounded album; he started looking at the pictures. He used his fingers to trace the names on the pictures, till he got to a particular face.
He stopped and opened a file that was on his table. He took a good look at the picture on the file, and then turned his attention on his high school’s year book; he drew back in shock, got up and went to take in the view of the hills of Enugu. He could not believe it, at that point, he was convinced that he knew her, once.
The Posting
The room was too hot to be real, much more, a doctor’s at a teaching hospital. Effiong could not help it, the first two buttons on his shirt came undone; it was still difficult to adapt to the heat after he came back to Nigeria. The consultant felt untouched, as he busily went through Effiong’s CV.
He knew what it meant when someone came with a letter of recommendation from Abuja. Effiong was just lucky to meet a friend who knew someone. It could not have been any easierin Nigeria; he had to learn the hard way: he had to be more Nigerian in his thinking.
He learned that it was wrong to show off prowls as an applicant in Nigeria, ‘you just have to tuck in your skills, act like a mu-mu, and get whatever you wished.’ Certain people felt threatened by a new intake because, they felt their position was at risk. The doctor looked suspiciously at Effiong, and asked:
“How did you come by these grades?”Effiong felt embarrassed: he didn’t know if it was right to answer or continue to act dumb. Nobody asked him such questions before. The doctor busily continued with his scrutinization.
“Well, due to your vast experience, I am going to assign you to A&E department.”
Effiong looked at the doctor, out of confusion.
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“You will do well with that as a start. We get lots of patients at the Accident and Emergency department. I think you need to get toughened up a bit, and it would be a good thing to get used to our system here. Eating lots of vegetables and bacon will not teach you medicine in Nigeria.”
Effiong knew where he was getting at; he tried as much as possible not to get offended; he knew he had to watch his steps. Another thing was having a keen eye on you, and the other was stepping of his toes. The doctor started writing on a white paper, and at the end, stamped it. He handed the paper over to Effiong who knew he was back to work in Nigeria.
The First Experience
The ambulance rushed into the hospital vicinity and stopped right in front of Accidents and Emergency unit. The paramedics opened up the door, and a man was led out on a rolling stretcher. Doctor Effiong came out from ward-round when he caught sight of their activities. He grabbed a pair of gloves, and rushed out to meet them.
A good look at the man showed: twisted limbs, bleeding from most outer organs and bruises on the outer surface of his skin. He knew that the man might have had some ruptured organs judging from the way his limbs were. Doctor Effiong checked his pulse, it was literally low. How come they got him here this late, and what happened to emergency response in the state? He turned to the nurses who at his command wheeled the man into the hospital.
When they got to the hall, he made to cut the buttons on the man’s shirt, but the nurse in charge slapped his hands away. He looked at her in surprise.
“Doctor, this is not standard procedure.”
He was dumbfounded: maybe he didn’t study what he studied or the hospital had a procedure which they followed in attending to accident victims. She came at him again, this time, she was sterner:
“We don’t touch patience without a down payment.”
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Effiong nearly scaled out through the walls of skin. They had a dying man before them, and she didn’t even flinch, but was more concerned about money. Before they knew it, the man on the stretcher became a little bit conscious; he groaned in pain. Effiong looked at the nurse, and said:
“Put his bill on me.”
He turned to the orderlies, signaled them, and the man was taken into the theatre. As soon as he was done with scrubbingup, he put on his gloves, and came over to the man. The nurses were busy with their preparations. The man opened his eyes; he looked deep into Effiong’s eyes, and then over his head. Effiong turned and saw where his eyes were pointed. But when he turned back, to assure him of his state, it was too late, because he was nomore.
Written by Oluoma Udemezue.
