It's a New Year already. If the other years were fast, 2012 was a Grand Prix. Despite its supersonic speed, it was one year fraught with all manner of events. The roller-coaster of emotions that came to define 2012 reinforced what many have always known about the uncertainty of this our sojourn called life. Personally, it was an ambivalent year. Some periods were dark, the darkest being the first few days of 2012.
We ushered in the New Year with our traditional Watch night service. I remember vividly how we prayed fervently that 2012 would bring us good fortune. Some minutes before midnight, the fervor of the supplications was such that one was tempted to believe Heaven was on its way down that night. It was what you could best describe as 'hot' and I am not referring to the weather. If I had any inkling what the next few days held, maybe I would have simply said the Grace and waited for what would be a grueling January.
I spent most of the day visiting some of my friends. I retired home early as my folks decided to host a small 'come-chop' for our friends and family. There we were wining and dining like there was no tomorrow when the telephone call came through. It was my cousin who was visiting from America. My closest Aunt had been feeling ill for sometime but she was, somehow, not accessible to me. Her telephone was always either switched off or unpicked. The other times she did pick the calls, she would try to assure me she was fine and that she was receiving care and improving. My cousin sounded calm that evening from what I picked in her voice. She called to inform me my Aunt had been on admission in a State-owned hospital in Lagos Mainland but was about to be transferred to a bigger centre. I was alarmed, how could she have been in the hospital all this while and nobody thought it wise to inform me. I quickly sheathed the anger, which was not what she needed at that moment. She had to get well first.
She was diagnosed with a severe chest infection and her breathing had become labored. The Lagos State hospital claimed they couldn't manage her any further. Besides they were fast running out of oxygen in the hospital and since her lungs could no longer inspire natural oxygen on their own, her staying alive depended on the white-collared metal cylinders. So, we had to make arrangements to transfer her that night. Unfortunately, the hospital did not have any suitable ambulance that could move such a distressed patient. So, I remembered the 767 'wonder-number' drummed into our ears by Governor Fashola and his cronies in a bid to sell their 'Lagos is working' story. They picked my emergency call and promised to dispatch an ambulance to transfer my Aunt. It's been a year now and that ambulance has still not arrived. Till date, they haven't even called to ask how we eventually sorted ourselves out that night.
Eventually, the hospital's only functional ambulance surfaced. It was an archaic Peugeot 504 station wagon that looked like it could use some oxygen itself. The Baba that drove the ambulance himself looked like he needed a doctor too. It was one of those nights when everything that could go wrong was spurring to go wrong.
I arranged to meet them at LUTH Idi-Araba from my house in Lagos Island. The hospital was on strike but I was told there was a private wing which may be operational. I assumed with my status as a medical doctor too she would be able to access care there. I humbly spoke to the doctor on duty after introducing myself and she apologized that they would not be able to take her. Even though the wing was operational, they were not taking in any new patients but only caring for those who were already on admission as at the time the strike was called. Her hands were tied as it were. There was nothing she could do to help me or my Aunt. By this time, the Ambulance Baba had started grumbling, he was in a hurry to return his decrepit excuse of an ambulance back to his premises.
So we moved Aunt into my car. It didn't have oxygen cylinders either but it would at least move faster than the station wagon that brought her to LUTH. We headed to LASUTH Ikeja, the only other Teaching Hospital in Lagos.
Knowing how things worked in government hospitals, I didn't hesitate to start any enquiry without stating clearly and loudly that I was Dr Wole Okulate as if to evoke some awe in whoever I was addressing. I was desperate. The Medical Emergency room in LASUTH was filled up. Even I could see it was going to be a very long night. Eventually, I saw the medical officer on duty and after some time, she informed me there was no bed space for my Aunt that night. I immediately started calling all my 'connections' in LASUTH in a bid to drag out space. The best all that secured was a space on the waiting couch in the E.R. The doctor then called me quietly to tell me 'off records' that my Aunt would be the fourth patient to be admitted on that same couch that day. The three previous inhabitants were now lying in the morgue according to her. I thanked her and 'reloaded' my Aunt into the backseat of my Toyota Corolla ambulance. It was time to move again.
I arrived at St. Nicholas shortly before midnight. It had been a New Year's Day from hell I thought to myself as I parked the car in their driveway. I rushed out to the reception to speak with them and again eagerly bellowed my 'Good Evening, my name is Dr Okulate' greeting. After speaking with the supervising Nurse on Night -duty, I was told admission deposit was N250,000. I almost swallowed my tongue. I reintroduced myself as a doctor and even identified myself with an I.D card to eventually convince her- not without much pleading- to accept a deposit of N120,000 at midnight. She was then wheeled in to begin the last 48hours of her life.
I have gone through this much detail to show how easy it is to die in Nigeria. Like my Aunt, many lives are frittered away in this society called Nigeria. It is a dark place. A jungle on its best day. There are too many things competing to take human lives in Nigeria. Many of them preventable. Every year the WHO releases health statistics showing life expectancy, infant and maternal mortality and others. Every year they give Nigeria some alarming figure. In my honest opinion, those figures are conservative. Those figures are generous in view of our reality. In a society where records are not kept and where human beings die like ants on a daily basis, the WHO needs more than 'estimates' to be sure where our health system stands. Our health system failed Folashade. Just as it will fail millions of Nigerians in 2013. They then tell us Nigeria is the worst place to be born in 2013 and we immediately warn them to refrain from 'insulting' us. Jokers.
I miss my Aunt Shade. I miss her very much. She was the definition of a mother. Even with nasal prongs supplying oxygen into her nostrils on the E.R bed, Folashade still worried about her kids. She still jumped up in bed to ask how her daughter (my cousin) was doing. She gave her all for her children. Even till death. Folashade taught me about love. Her life radiated it. She was soft-spoken and humble. She was a hardworking woman. She tried so hard to ensure her daughters never made the mistakes she made as a young girl and she was a peaceful person. She was also very beautiful. On the anniversary of her demise, I went through the programme of her funeral and my cousin's tribute to her struck me again. She wrote that she was her mother's garden and that she was sure she was going to a better place where there was no pain or evil. She was right. Infirmity ravaged Aunty and she aged quickly within a few months. She really didn't deserve the pain and suffering. She also didn't deserve to die.
Alas, those that scoffed at Folashade's trials and eventual demise are today ravaged by ill-health themselves. They also now know pain and suffering just like you did. Fortunately, you are no longer in any pain, unlike them. I'm sorry if I have silently prayed theirs last a while longer. Even before sickness struck them, they didn't know peace. As my people say, 'wicked man na wicked man' and whatever a man sows, same will he reap. Even the Bible says so. Cursed is he, whose kids take care of him in his old age or sick bed only out of obligation rather than out of genuine love and affection. Folashade died knowing very well that her kids loved her and they were ready to give their all to keep her alive.
Finally, I will advise everyone who has ears. Nigeria has no plans for you or your unborn generation. At the moment, the greatest gift you can give any unborn child isn't a good education or good values. It is a non-Nigerian citizenship. Give them a chance at life. An American citizenship is probably the most prized asset you can give your child. Just knowing his life expectancy isn't 48years or whatever. I was once told life expectancy for a sickler in Nigeria was 12years while it was 51 in the USA. What this means is that as a sickler in the USA, you had a better chance at living long than a full healthy adult man with AA genotype in Nigeria. Give your kids an option. Nobody deserves to be stuck here. Death is cheap on our streets.
Folashade Adetoun Odeneye (June 26 1962 - January 3 2012)
Requiescat In Pace!
