THE PINNACLE OF HOPE

AUGUST 24^TH, 2016

Dear diary,

A trip to the wards is always an eye opener; first as to the degree of suffering people undergo and then as to the degree of blessings God has showered on me by granting me good health.

Since my last posting to the trauma lab, I had been frequenting the ward to dispatch results and each time I did, I’d walk down the long corrider about a third of its length filled with patients and patients relatives most of whom the hospital had become a home. Their waiting eyes would feast on passersby till the next passer by came along to inherit the eye feast. Some had started selling recharge cards in a bid to meet the needs of other patients as well as a need to keep busy making a few bucks when not running around for tests, payments and other requests heaped on them.

Today, as I made my way up to the first floor to make a dispatch, a sorry sight greeted my eyes and transported me back to 2002 when the hospital too was our home. My immediate elder brother had been sick for months; He had recently been diagnosed of glucose 6 phosphate dehydrogenase deficiency a disease condition that caused him to react to almost everything most notably malaria drugs. Mother had sat by his side day and night and tendered to his every needs, exchanging places only once in a  while with my cousin brother who would hold on for her till she came back. She frequently complained of back pains and mosquito bites but what could a 10 year old who slept on her bed every night know about back aches and chronic mosquito bites? I would happily visit my brother in the childrens ward and retire later to the play ground where I would play with other kids on the jangulover. My brother would sometimes join us on the play ground and somehow, he managed to make everybody love him. The doctors assured us that he would be okay and true to their words, He recuperated and off  we went back to our home.

Back to present, the people I saw beneath the stair case were undoubtedly patients’ relatives. A wrapper was spread on the floor besides cooking utensils and clothing. The look on her face seemed to be that of a stationary sadness… that of one who knew she had a bad situation but had somehow come to accept it. In her eyes, were pains and in them lacked the hope I saw in the eyes of others who had relatives in the hospital. As I walked up the stairs, I wondered how they managed to foot all the bills.

I was back at the Federal Medical Centre in 2002 when mumy asked my cousin to go and withdraw her entire salary. Back then, it had been huge and she rarely touched it save for a few personal expenses. She would go to onitcha once in a while and buy a lot of clothes and other goodies for us but here she was, ordering that her salary be brought to be squandered in the hospital

”Pay N9000 for two pints of blood….” She started to say and then I marveled at how much she had to spend sitting down at a spot. “My salary is finished” She had said the next day and my heart went out to her.

I was sadder even for my brother for he had to endure the pains from within and without…the needles and the drugs. His breathe smelled of drugs. The doctors had promised he would be fine. Yes they had; what they didn’t tell us was that he was going to die months after his discharge from the hospital. What the doctors didn’t tell us was that it didn’t matter how much we spent, He was going to die anyway. But looking back, I wonder what the difference would have been had we known that he would die. We would have still tried our best  not just merely to save him, but to convince ourselves that we had tried our best for him.

What marveled me was that most of the patients relatives who had stayed in the hospital for two years and above were low income earners,who had little or no qualifications to work in government establishments but somehow, they found a way to foot their bills, somehow, they pushed through the obstacles of lack and stood on a pinnacle so very high. They had found a pinnacle…the pinnacle of HOPE.