If the Tinubu-induced inflation is your only trouble in Nigeria, then count yourself lucky and highly blessed. You may not appreciate this till you fall sick, get to hospital, watch people die and appreciate how close you are to the grave.
Such an opportunity has come my way twice recently. In the first instance, I was rushed to the Nnamdi Azikiwe University Teaching Hospital (NAUTH), Nnewi. Then, just a few weeks ago, I had to rush a cousin to the same hospital. Both occasions ended sweetly.
Kudos to NAUTH
Contrary to what one often hears, my admission to the hospital was seamless. A wheelchair was quickly provided taking me from the car to a bed, a very narrow bed – in the overcrowded accident and emergency unit. Patients and their relations filled practically every inch of the unit at that old site location.
Doctors and nurses arrived promptly, taking my brief and carryng out physical examinations. Infusions were quickly set up and specimens were taken for laboratory tests.
It was at the lab that payments were demanded and my minders paid. Minders – relations or otherwise – are a major necessity at this tertiary hospital. They are the ones that would queue up to pay the bills, run around to collect lab results, arrange for food (as the hospital doesn’t provide food) and run sundry errands.Without them, the unit would just be a holding bay for the mortuary. Strength returned to my body gradually and it was then that my eyes took in the environment. The small space was practically bursting at the seams. Even though the medical staff were not showing any obvious signs of stress, the number of patients far exceeded what I imagined would be the carrying capacity of these patient medics. I didn’t see them snap at any patient or their relations.
Then, I noticed the absence of dignity in that unit. Patients relieved themselves in the open ward, with the assistance of their caregivers. The nurses were too few for the patients and their relations took care of them whichever way they could. The screens which provide some privacy were too few for the patient population.
I saw a few men lying down stark naked, and perhaps for gender equality, I sighted a middle-aged woman shorn of any clothing. She and others in that state were beyond care at that point. I could have been in that state too. I had collapsed while heading to the bathroom.
Then, I heard a wail go up; a woman’s wail. I listened intently and confirmed that she had lost the person she brought to hospital. Some minutes later, two men in sombre uniform took out the body, covered in a white sheet, with a trolly.
As the bustle continued, I heard the voice of a young man calling for water to drink from both doctors and nurses. I wondered if no relation came with him. Less than an hour later, I didn’t hear his voice again. By the time he crossed my mind again, he was dead, covered with a white sheet. As the death brigade, as I called them took him out, he had a big erection. Two teenage girls looking after their brother on the bed next to mine, giggled that he must have taken drugs to wallop a woman, but it backfired. Stupid girls, I hissed in my mind. They could make speculations because it wasn’t their brother. And in their little experience of life, they had not heard of men developing erections as they passed without remembering anything female. As we say in my area, when they are carrying someone else’s body, it would look like banana stem to those who are not members of his family.
The teenage girls and their mother, a fine young woman on whom suffering was boldly etched, brought in their boy unconscious. The woman said he had malaria and typhoid fever and a nurse in their area treated him with infusion. In the course of that the fine young man who looked about 23, lost consciousness. For hours, the mother and younger sisters held a test tube and begged him to urinate so there would be a sample for lab test. But Emeka was too far to hear them. They shook him in every yearway, all to no avail.
As the day wore on, the deaths and signature wails kept piling. Then, the mind starts playing tricks. How soon before one’s own wail?
What’s this, NAUTH?
I needed to ease myself, and had my son lead me to the toilet. There, I had the shock of my life! The two units of toilet which were open were incredibly messed. The water closet bowl was half-filled with waste; the part of the bowl visible was stained with age. The floor was wet and the walls were grimy. The much I could do was urinate before shuffling out. For two days that I was there, I couldn’t use the toilet. The discomfort was killing, but the sight of the toilet was outright murder!
On the evening of Day Two, I was transferred to the Men’s ward. I was happy, hoping for a better toilet. Imagine my disappointment seeing the toilet same as in the accident and emergency. I stayed four days on the whole without relieving myself. That was as far as I could go. I then reached out to a senior professor in the university outside the teaching hospital.
I expressed shock at the apparent ignorance of the authorities that cleanliness was the first level of care for patients. My professor friend got to the authorities, but they said their focus was on moving over to the permanent site. They however promised to do something. The following morning, a lady cleaner came and scrubbed the tired toilet bowl, and as soon as she was done, I rushed in.
Hours later when I went to urinate, the bowl was half-filled again, and the floor was a pool of water. For days, I noticed that a cleaner would always clean the toilet about 7am and then it would be left for the rest of the day. I complained to a cousin who visited, and he said it was a direct opposite to what obtained at the Federal Medical Center, Asaba. The FMC Asaba, he said, had a full compliment of toilet staff who check the facility practically after every use and make sure they are in order.
I forced the hospital to discharge me, against medical advice. I was terrified at the prospect of contracting something dreadful from the toilet besides what brought me to hospital. The day I decided to go, I told the doctors to tell their consultant that if I passed the night there, they would be holding me against my will. They understood and discharged me.
NAUTH new site
An appointment with my consultant gave me the first opportunity of seeing NAUTH permanent site at Akammili, Nnewi. It is an expansive ground on the slope of a hill. Physically, it met my expectations of what a teaching hospital should look like. The architecture is modern and the paint fresh.
The operations at this permanent site are automated. To keep an appointment, you make a payment and get an automated teller machine (ATM) card customized for you which keeps all your information – lab results, payments, prescriptions, etc. Once logged in, the doctor sees all information about you and whatever he prescribes, he logs into his his laptop and it gets loaded in your card.
The toilet at the outpatient unit was water-logged and even though there are more units of water closets, one was already boarded up and out of use and another had lost its flushing handle – all in a couple of months. But it had water, unlike the male ward of the old site where water was fetched about 70 metres away.
A few weeks ago, I rushed a cousin to the same hospital. He was brought in unconscious, and the hospital staff took him in and started treatment before I paid for the hospital card. In my hurry, I forgot my ATM card. So, I had to go to my bank in town to get some cash. By the time I returned, my cousin had been resuscitated. He was kept for observation and after about 36 hours, he was discharged. Happily, no wails went up within the hours I was there at the new accident and emergency unit. And the toilet there was fair. The unit was larger than the old site and perhaps the environment contributed to the survival rate, I reasoned.
