The death scare (creative nonfiction)

As dusk hastily cast its shadows upon me, I hurried my feet across the accident and emergency unit of the university teaching hospital where I had my undergraduate tutorship. My steps hastened majorly because I had to resume my duty post as the intern on call at the state hospital where I trained and also because I loathed the nostalgia I got from walking around the environment that tormented me so much as a student. Probably, my mind was out of the hospital complex while my body dragged along. The car park was just outside of the A&E department, and I wished I could just teleport to it and save myself the stress of the unwelcome nostalgia.

"Dr. James, thank God you're here." Mrs. Zainab's (actual name withheld) sonorous voice jolted my mind back to reality. While my smile was genuine to see her as a family friend, my heart skipped, hoping she didn't have an emergency that brought her to the facility.

"Hope all is well, ma? Good evening, ma'am." I said, letting out a broad smile. Though it was pleasant for me to see her, I feared her presence would probably jeopardize my early departure from the hospital premises.

"It's my cousin. He has been sick for a while and has been treated at the village health center for a while with no improvement, so we decided to bring him over to the teaching hospital for a more thorough management by the specialist." Mrs. Zainab narrated with a sad countenance. She continued to tell me about interventions that had been done up until that moment with no significant improvement. I was sorry for her, and though I was a fresh graduate from the medical college, the least I could show was my empathy.

"Where is he now?" I asked reluctantly, trying as much as possible to hide my hesitancy.

"Right at the corner there." Mrs. Zainab pointed to the medical consulting room of the accident and emergency, which was only about ten steps away from where we stood.

The room, a cubicle was well lit but abandoned except for the young man in his early thirties who lay on one of the two hospital couches in the room. The young man lay mute except for his chest, which rose and fell faintly, signifying the presence of life. 'Why are there no attending physicians?' I thought to myself, but then, it was not unusual to find such scenarios in Nigerian hospitals. I made further inquiries from Mrs. Zainab and afterwards lifted my right hand and felt his pulse with my fingers. The man's pulse was weak, and that made me more curious. My hand went again to his face and retracted his eyelids downwards to check his pallor.

"Let me reach out to any doctor around ma. He should be fine." I assured her, even though deep within me, I knew his prognosis for survival was slim. Luckily, I met a senior colleague doctor just while Mrs. Zainab and I stepped out of the cubicle room.

"The consultant is on his way to review. We've administered emergency care." The colleague doctor assured us after we exchanged pleasantries.

"Thank you, Chief, I'm grateful." I said with a smile. (It is common slang to call superior doctors who are consultants "chief). I turned to Mrs. Zainab and further assured her that her cousin was in safe hands. The time was already fast spent, and I had to excuse myself from the hospital environment so I could resume at the state hospital (about a forty-minute drive), where I trained as an intern. I needed to make a stopover at my parents' house so as to pick up a few belongings, and thus, I pressed the pedal with higher intensity.

Barely five minutes' drive away from the hospital, my phone rang, and the screen revealed my family friend, Mrs. Zainab. "The doctors are suspecting it is a case of Ebola." Mrs. Zainab spoke amidst tears, and for a brief moment while my feet pressed on the car's accelerator, my heart halted, skipping a beat, and as though, like a dam was opened up to flood a community, my heart began to pound fast within my chest cavity. Thoughts flooded my mind, and visibly, I felt my palms sweaty against the car steering.

"God will take control, Ma." I replied before ending the call. I was skeptical about the stopover at the family house, as I intended, especially because I didn't want to put my family in harm's way. Nonetheless, I made the quick stopover and went straight to have a shower. My bath was unusual. It was as though I could wash off the past hour, when I made contact with the patient. I did my best to hide my scare from my family members and dashed out of the house as soon as possible.

Within a few minutes, I got to my hospital, where I was to be on call from 8 p.m. till the following morning. I headed for the quarter to park my car and offload a few items before resuming the call duty. My colleague and flatmate shouted from his side of the quarter when he sensed my presence (this was not unusual of him). "You've gone home to enjoy Mom's food, right? Make sure you keep something for me. Did you hear there's an Ebola patient in the hospital? He has just been referred from the teaching hospital." My colleague shouted from his quarter.

"Oh, really?" I replied. "God save us." I added. Only then did I remember the state hospital doubled as an isolation center, and it was only appropriate for such cases to be referred there. My heart sank further. It seemed death had pursued me to my abode. My heartbeat was erratic, fearing my life being whisked away right just when my career was just beginning. My legs could barely bear the weight of my body as I paced around my room. I summoned courage and headed to the hospital premises, where I was to resume my call duty. Walking past the accident and emergency section, there was a crowd sparsely gathered. An ambulance was parked at the A&E emergency entrance. I could hear the crowd murmur with concerns of fear, some people keeping a significant distance. I stood at a distance and watched in horror, wondering if my fate in the near future was going to be similar to what lay before me.

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After about ten minutes of watching in horror, a loud shout erupted from those closest to the ambulance, and I watched as a stampede ensued. 'He's dead!' I heard a woman run past me hastily. I froze for a moment. I wished I could sink into the ground underneath me. I walked away from the scene and headed to the section where I was to have my call duty. I was already thirty minutes late for the call duty I was to resume by 8p.m. Thankfully, my supervising medical officer, Dr. Femi (actual name withheld), was a doctor I enjoyed working with.

I reported to Dr. Femi, and after exchanging pleasantries, I summoned courage and confided in him about what had transpired within the past two hours. He listened attentively, giving me his undivided attention.

"Dr. James, I don't think you should kill yourself over this. For all we know, the diagnosis is not confirmed yet. Pray and try to rest your mind. Okay?" Dr. Femi consoled me. He further shared some scares he had experienced personally in a bid to comfort me. After our conversation, I felt a little relieved and felt some calm from my troubled soul. Dr. Femi made certain he handled all the patients that presented during the call hours alone, relieving me of the responsibility of the call duty. I chose not to return to my quarters but stayed back, crawled up on the bed in the doctor's call room, battling with the silent echoes in my heart against the loud whispers of the suspected Ebola patient among the staff of the ward where I was to cover for the call duty.

The night was long, and my sleep was short and regularly interrupted by nightmares surrounding the Ebola victim. I reached out to my older brothers the following morning, and they equally shared in my concern. My older brother offered to foot the bill to get an immunoglobulin injection immediately, which I consented to, for I was like a man that drowned and would hold onto anything to survive.

Activities heightened the following morning already at the hospital as I headed to my quarters. My phone rang and jolted me like a shock while I walked solemnly to the quarters. It was Mrs. Zainab, my family friend.

"We lost my cousin last night at your hospital. I didn't want to bother you much. However, the results carried out on him showed he had yellow fever and not Ebola." Mrs. Zainab said over the phone.

My erratic heart immediately felt calm upon hearing the news. Though I knew a few things about yellow fever, I punched my phone and googled the disease condition to refresh my knowledge and equally put my mind to rest.