"Is everything alright, Ma?" I asked, pausing and standing face-to-face with her. I knew the troubles patients' relatives frequently encountered in Nigerian hospitals and, worse, especially the tertiary healthcare facilities such as UITH. The least I could do was to be empathetic, and thankfully, the emergency section where her patient was was only a stone's throw. I walked into the medical consulting room where emergencies were triaged and attended to. Her patient was a middle-aged man in his early forties, dark-skinned, and lying on one of the two available couches in the consulting room. The attending physicians were surprisingly absent when I got to where the patient was, who lay on the couch halfway unconscious. I asked a few questions about what had transpired to have resulted in the index case. In my bid to reveal my clinical prowess, perhaps in addition to a share of empathy, without sensing the need to use gloves, I used my right thumb finger to examine the patient's parlor. I checked the patient's pulse also for about a minute. It was barely five months into my medical internship, which was my first exposure since I graduated from college.
I encouraged my family friend even though the prognosis was bleak, yet I didn't disclose that. I hastily left the scene as I needed to first reach my family home before proceeding to the state hospital where I trained as an intern. Dusk lazily cast shadows on me as I cruised my car home, only to hear my phone ring; it was my family friend, whom I had just left her side.
"Doctor James, the doctors here are saying it's a case of suspected hemorrhagic fever, Ebola to be precise." She said over the phone.
My heartbeat stopped momentarily while the car continued to zoom through the air. The realization of careless but avoidable exposure without precautionary measures began to hit me. Floods of thoughts with panic ravaged my mind as my world, which I had only begun to build through my career, began to crumble before my very eyes. I gripped the steering wheel of the car firmly, determined not to end my life from panic on the road. I got home some minutes before 7 p.m. and headed straight to the restroom, where I showered as though I was washing my sins away. I was careful to have minimal contact with my family and hastened out of the house to return to the state hospital where I worked. The palpitations in my heart just wouldn't calm; rather, they collided with thoughts of doom and negativity.
I reached the state hospital around 8 p.m. and was shocked to see a crowd of people at the accident and emergency ward of our hospital. I stayed for a moment to observe what the issue was, hoping to get a clue. After a few minutes of waiting in my car, I heard a disgruntled shout from the crowd with everyone running in different directions, shadows cast by the high-lit lamps at strategic positions.
"What's going on?" I asked a hospital worker who hastily walked past where I was parked.
"Doc, it's you. A patient believed to have Ebola had just been brought in from UITH to our hospital. You know this hospital doubles as an isolation center." The man said and continued walking briskly towards the exit of the hospital. I knew immediately it was the same patient I had encountered a few hours ago. My body weakened, and my senses lagged. 'Has death followed me right to my doorstep?' I thought as I drove to the hospital quarters where I stayed. I reached out to my intern colleague who was on duty at the medical unit, and he further disclosed the situation of the patient. I was told there was no available personal protective gown at the facility, and the patient was left in the ambulance untouched by our hospital staff. I spent the next hour asking about the state of the patient, and only at about 9 p.m. was I informed the patient had died.
My brain immediately became dysfunctional as I could feel vibrations in my head in addition to the head heaviness that threatened to swallow me up. I stared into oblivion as I envisioned my life being whisked away in turn. I began to feel the warmth of my body with the back of my palm to catch any symptoms. All the lessons learned during medical school about hemorrhagic fever suddenly vaporized as I seemed to drown in the sea of fear and regrets. I stayed late for the most part of the night, and by the following day, I walked about the premises of the hospital like an accused who had been stripped naked, wallowing in guilt and fear.
I managed to disclose my ordeal to a senior medical colleague who thankfully attempted to allay my fears. I was surprised by his show of confidence and levity as I wallowed in fear.
"Nothing will happen. It may not even be what you're suspecting. It has not been confirmed yet, so don't kill yourself yet." The senior medical officer encouraged me. This day after the incident was my call day, such that I needed to sleep in for the night at the hospital and attend to all obstetrics and gynecological cases that were present during the calling hour. My medical officer was very understanding as he largely took the share of the call, relieving me of the responsibilities for the night. I spoke with my older brothers, and I was advised to get immunoglobulin, which may halt or slow the progression of the hemorrhagic fever. It was almost forty-eight hours from the incident, and I made up my mind to take a shot at the immunoglobulin even though it worked better within the first 24 hours of exposure. At that instance, I was like a man who drowned and was given a snake to hold on to for survival instead of a tree branch.
"Hello, Doctor James." My family friend's call interrupted my hazy thoughts and preparations for the immunoglobulin. "The result has been confirmed; it was a case of yellow fever." She continued. The erratic beat in my heart slowed as I let out a deep sigh of relief. My gratitude knew no bounds; a caution had been impinged upon my heart against being a superhero when attending to patients.
