From my bed I
peeped through the window at the road below. For the first time since I was
wheeled into the private room of what is called a hospital three days ago,
I became conscious of my environment. I had been in great pain; body ravaged by
high fever and aching as if I had been pummelled by a boxer. I was in near coma
and felt my life was ebbing. Nothing seemed to have mattered at the time.
I couldn’t
believe what I saw. Was I dreaming? I had dreamt quite a lot and it was
becoming increasingly difficult for me to separate dreams from reality. This
time I knew it was real. The road was a pothole filled earthen stretch. Some of
the potholes were deep enough to swallow a car if it rained. Here and there,
were traces of tar as evidence that the road was once tarred. No wonder when I
was rushed into the hospital, half alive and half dead, I had thought that I
was on my way to Purgatory (a place between hell and heaven). It was amazing
that I survived the ride! The hedges on both sides were rough and the adjacent
lawn was over grown. Empty pure water sachets and tiny pieces of paper littered
its surface. The flowers were withered and interspersed with ugly weeds.
I quickly
took my eyes from the window and began to explore my room. It was a big
mistake! The room was smelly and scruffy - dirty walls and curtains, worn out
floor tiles with missing pieces and cobwebs on the ceiling. The aluminium coating
on the drip stand from which hung the infusion had peeled off in several places
exposing its horrible looking rusty inner core.
Now I was
feeling very bad again. I felt an urge to empty my bladder. My nurse had asked
me to press the call bell button anytime I needed assistance. I did once; waited
about two minutes; then twice in quick succession and waited for a few more
minutes. Still no one came. I pressed furiously several times in a row. I could
hear it ringing at the distance. About three or more minutes later a nurse
strolled majestically into my room and without asking me what the problem was
shouted, “Old man, why are you so impulsive? Why do you want to bring down our
ceiling with the bell?” “It’s too late now, nature has taken its course,” I
replied calmly but badly shaken. I had done it on my bed and was reeking with
urine. “There are no more bed-sheets and I am afraid you’ll have to swim in
your urine until we get a new set from the laundry tomorrow,” she announced
without any compassion. I didn’t bother to ask for my pyjamas to be changed.
What use would that be lying on a urine soaked bed?
A few
minutes later when I overheard another attendant raining abuses and curses on
some patients in the general ward, I knew my nurse was an 'angel'! “What kind of hospital is this?” I asked
myself. The doctor provided the answer the following day.
Resentment was
rapidly welling up inside me, reversing the progress I had made. The drip set
now removed, I could move about freely and started with a visit to the toilet.
As I opened the door, a foul odour greeted me. The toilet had not been flushed
for God knows how long. From the empty buckets in the room, I knew there was no
water. Instinctively, l held my breath, shut the door as fast as I could and
staggered back to my bed. Just then, the doctor came into my room. When he
finished examining me, I expected he would discuss his findings with me. “I’ll
see you again tomorrow,” he announced and walked away before I could ask any
question.
My heart
sank. Confused and dejected, I thought to myself, “This is not a hospital in
which I can be nursed to health. If the journey to a hospital should be the
start of a trip to heaven, I certainly would not like to begin it in this
hospital. I would love a hospital with a heavenly road - well paved, with
well-trimmed hedges; manicured lawns and beautiful flowers. I should be in a
neat and tidy room; have well maintained equipment; nursed by kind, loving and
caring people with smiles on their faces. I would love to have sweet, musical
and gentle voices talk to me in whispers and serenading me so I could begin to
appreciate the daily and unending concert of heavenly choirs even while in
transit – not the distractions of the rude and uncaring attitude of dissatisfied
and grumbling workers. My choice hospital should not let me think of my journey
as the last lap out of this terrible world but as the commencement of a beautiful
trip to a new and wonderful environment called Paradise!
It crossed
my mind, “Is this the reason why many rich Nigerians are flown abroad to die?”
If there are no hospitals to nurse them to health, there must be hospitals out
there comfortable enough to die in.
