4 am.
I wake up to the Yoruba classic, eye-adaba, playing on repeat after a very short night’s sleep and my mood just goes low. Why does this broadcast committee think it’s okay to disrupt ones sleep with loud music as early as 4 am? Don’t they need sleep? Like it’s way too early for this guys.
The attitude from these clinic officials is unbecoming. They don’t allow us crash in the call rooms?, they hide the toilet keys so we don’t get a decent place to do our business?, they are plain rude and yet they keep threatening us with poor postings because they think we are underperforming. I can’t seem to wrap my head around this behavior. I mean, we are rendering free services. Services that are tedious. All for what? For these women to behave as if we are unruly toddlers that need discipline. I definitely didn’t quit my job to sign up for NYSC only to be rewarded with this kind of bullshit?. I’ve heard doctors ought to be treated like Demi-gods on camp. What I see here is just not acceptable, every human being deserves respect for dignifying labor and since we are not getting that, I’ve decided that we doctors will strike on Monday, and by some stroke of luck the other female doctors agree??
While we were scheming on how to enact the impending strike, a female corp member comes in, clutching her nose and then coughing while doubled over. She is feigning asthma?? In as much as we knew she was faking it, we still examined her just “in case”. Her chest is clear and there are no wheezing sounds.
Several things were wrong in her acting. Firstly, an asthmatic won’t use their own hand to close off their airway because what they need is to breathe. Secondly the pain she complains of is localized in the epigastric region which corresponds more with ulcer pain than asthma. Thirdly, why do people act in front of doctors? As if we won’t catch them?
My colleague puts 2 and 2 together and we gave her a placebo. As soon as she gets it, she gets up and marches out of the clinic triumphant???. We laughed really hard and once again, my mean side shows up. I suggested to my colleagues that the next person who malingers into this clinic will simply get IM sterile Aqua. In my mind, I thought I was mean until some one else suggested that we give IV 600mg PCM bolus ???
Around 8am, a severe attack of narcolepsy hits me. And boy! It hit me strong. I’ve been working fifteen hours a day for the last 2 months and I combined that simultaneously with 3 months of prepping for the exam I took on Thursday. Then given that I resumed camp immediately after the exam without taking a break, my sleep tank is red ?❗and my body wasn’t complying with the stress anymore.
I rest my head on the table, vaguely aware of Abigail and Aminat, my colleagues at the camp clinic, waking me up every 3 days (yes, 3 days; hyperbole intended) to tell me to attend to a patient or to give me gist. Somehow I’m incredibly unresponsive to calls and touch. My GCS (a score to predict consciousness) is dreadfully low. Probably 1/15.??
Some masculine voice pierced through my somnolent haze and says “Abiola, I have decided to admit you. Go and sleep in the camp clinic for 6 hours”. (I think he added “and that’s an order” I’m not quite sure he said that. My brain must have made this last sentence up, but who cares)
It is at this point that I wake up. I mean, my head snaps up. Because no dream should be this good. It’s the voice of the camp CMD and his face is pretty serious, even through his glasses. I mouth my thanks and rush into the room and I’m fast asleep before I can hit the bed.
In what feels like two minutes, Madam Rosacea, the camp clinic head, comes in with her two “left legs” and asks what I’m doing. Edakun!!!, dear Yoruba people, is it not obvious that I am sleeping on the bed? Does an entity other than “Flesh and Blood” have to reveal that to her? Someone spares me the stress of having to answer by telling her I’ve got diarrheal disease. She doesn’t know what that means so she leaves me alone. The responder happens to be the camp CMD yet again. I owe this guy two times over now.
A nosy restless military nurse walks in and with a very nasal voice asks, “why is doctor sleeping?” Once again someone comes to my rescue and replies “she is on admission”. This nurse must be related to the biblical Thomas because she legit tapped my leg and says “ngbo, why are you sleeping?”
Haaa, Aye gba tapa. ?♀️
I open one of my sleepy eyes and keep the other close, so I don’t lose my sleep and then I give her my signature eye and say to her “didn’t you hear them tell you that I’m on admission, why did you have to wake me up to confirm?”
With that she leaves me in peace, only to return 2 hours later to bring an actual emergency to my notice.
As the camp activities progress, my platoon members select me to represent them as “Big, Bold and Beautiful”. I’m asked to stand for recognition, so they can inspect if anything on my frame fits the criteria, but my legs decide not to work. Talk about conversion disorder. My brain is terrified that I may have the red map of Canada decorating my shorts so I stay glued to my seat hoping against all hope that the moment would pass. As you can probably guess, the awkward moment didn’t pass. My platoon instructor exerts his authority on me and suddenly I find myself standing like a duck lost in the middle of an express way with no sense of direction, I’m also sweating like I’ve just had a myocardial infarction. The lady beside me whispers “all clear”, meaning what is white remained white as far as her eyes could see. I breathe out a sigh of relief, stand even taller (trust your girl ?) and allow everyone present to admire the goodness of God in my life.
Evening time.
They’ve decided to throw us a welcome party, people are hyped about it. I’m not but I go, just to feed my eyes. The party starts with a live band that continually alternates between gospel and secular songs. I’m a little confused on which one to dance to, because the beats are wrong, the tune is off key, and by the time I make up my mind on which dance step fits in, they would have changed the songs to yet another one. I give up altogether and wait for the platoons to come out dancing turn by turn.
Platoon 1 are the worst and the best. They are the Marlians, the Protestants, the Everything. They made my evening. Scratch that, the camp coordinator actually did. The dude is like 28 weeks pregnant with fat, and he manages to bend down low and perform some leg work. Something I still can’t do.
PS; I have videos to back this up and my village people are strongly encouraging me to share them, but there is a voice of reason reminding me that I have not gotten my discharge certificate yet, so I’ll just wait until I do before I take such risk.
Night time
I go back to the dorm, head to the bathroom and one of the things I dread happens. I’m molested. By a girl !!! People need to start teaching their children not to touch another human beings private’s. It’s really that simple. Durh !!! She laughs about it but one look at my face has her retreating as she suddenly starts to claim it’s a mistake. I don’t believe her but I’m not taking any more chances. I can’t even paint the details here. I just use my hand to hold on to the little areas I’m able to carry and hope that the rest of me stays safe while I remain in this bathroom. Of course, if you’ve seen the goodness of God in my life, you’ll know there’s painfully little my size 5 hands can do to safeguard anything.
On getting to my room, I realize after taking my bath and washing my clothes (3rd round of clothes washing for that day) that I had forgotten my kit in the clinic?♀️. Kit that I hustled to get in the first place. Of course, nothing in the kit is my size but then, it’s not something I want to lose either. I’d rather hold on to it and have something to bargain with should the opportunity come right? I stay on that bed, deliberating whether or not to dress up and go downstairs to pick it up. I eventually decide not to, but you know what? In the end I didn’t have to because, Opemipo came to my rescue. He saved my kit for me. Thanks man! I owe you one.