"Doctor, there is a patient in the Male Medical ward that needs an intravenous access in his hand." Nurse Suleiman called out to me.
"Intravenous access? Cannula? Male Medical?" I asked, surprised at what she said. I was a corps member posted for the compulsory National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) in far-away Kebbi State, which was about a 10-hour drive by road from my place of residence. Inserting a cannula in my place of primary assignment (PPA) is a task left for the nurses due to the limited medical personnel, unless it is a difficult one, commonly in pediatrics. I was thus surprised when my attention was called to inserting a cannula for an adult. I walked majestically into the ward, flanked on my right by Nurse Suleiman.
It was a general ward and had about eight beds, with most of them occupied by patients. The Hospital was old, poorly renovated, yet it served the community and surrounding villages. The beds were equally old and rickety, and they gave out creak sounds often when any weight was applied. I saw, at a corner, four men pinning an elderly man down, with another female nurse waiting for me, probably after several failed attempts. The man had been admitted by another doctor on duty who was elderly and on contract with the hospital.
"This one, four men are pinning down an elderly man. I hope we are all safe." I said it in a serious but jovial manner. The four men applied some extra effort and pinned the elderly man to the bed while I inserted the cannula in his right hand, though he still struggled despite the pin. The procedure was not supposed to be difficult since he had obvious veins, but it took me a while before I got the intravenous access secured. "And voila, the job was done—dicey but well done." I thought to myself in admiration.
"Doctor, please help us administer this intramuscular injection." The other nurse I met there pleaded. My countenance changed, but I obliged. There was no harm in completing the good work I started. The elderly man’s buttock was positioned for me by the men that pinned him down, and just before I gave the injection, I noticed an old and ugly-looking bead around his waist.
Generally, women wear beads around their waists for fashion, but seeing such beads around the elderly man’s waist struck a cord of concern, fear, and curiosity. I proceeded with the injection, ignoring the old man’s struggles. After the injection, the old man was freed, and I walked out of the ward without looking back, though I suspected the old man was dissatisfied with what I had done to him.
"Everyone should go and pray." I said this jokingly to the two nurses that worked with me. "I’m not comfortable with this elderly man." I continued this time around with a more serious tone. I had the intuition that something was wrong with the old man, but I could not pinpoint the exact thing.
By evening, after work had closed, I headed to my apartment, which was a 10 minute drive into town. While driving home, the incident with the elderly man kept replaying in my head despite my efforts to shrug it off. Usually on my way home, I have a preferred route, which is a straight road, but because I wanted to pick up an item at a store that I eventually could not get because it was unavailable, I took an alternative but familiar route. "People that have car accidents—how do they survive?" This thought sprang into my head out of the blue, and immediately, I slowed the car that I drove, even though I was not speeding prior to then. "What if you have an accident now?" This thought continued to ravage me, causing my heart to skip a beat. In one instance, less than a minute after thinking of the accident, I heard a bump, causing me to have a quick stop in the middle of the road.
I stepped out of the car, only to realize I had just hit a small boy whose age was around 5 years old. The mom crossed from the other side of the road to where the boy lay and picked him up. At this moment, my head became heavy, as though the weight of the world were placed on it. I assisted the boy up to his feet, together with his mom. I stretched his arms and legs and quickly examined his body to see if he was hurt anywhere. Thankfully, there were no bruises or fractures on the boy. I handed the boy back to his mother, apologized, and got back into my car.
My thoughts were flooded as I drove home, relating the earlier incident, my intuition, and my premonition to what just occurred. Immediately after I got home, I knelt down and prayed. I called my mom afterwards to inform her, and her reaction to the bead part of the story was alarming. I was glad any major harm was averted.