DIARY OF A SMALL DOCTOR – Paula Ugwumba

DISCLAIMER WARNING: The following content contains themes that may be triggering to some readers: self-harm, and suicide. Viewer's discretion is advised.

Tuesday, February 14, 2021

Bisola died today.

A medical student died today

*

I woke up by 5:55 am today hoping to have my bath before my roommate Tochi (I can’t understand why she usually spends so much time in the bathroom like one performing a ritual). The water ran slowly and was cold, I may or may not have had a Jackie Chan shower (very quickly, less than 3 minutes). Took my time to rub in my body oil and snuggle under my duvet before my 9 am class.

I had hoped to leave the hostel for class before the owners of Valentine’s Day assaulted me with their ‘pararan’ and its associated presentations, I was unfortunate. I met Bisola at the hostel junction under the mango tree just as another saxophonist passed by with their group of wise men bearing gifts. We talked about how envious we were of the people still snuggling in bed while rushing to class to keep our seats.

*

2 egg rolls and one shared Fanta later, I and Bisola were on our way to the practical lab after our morning class, the sun was ungodly hot. We planned to go to the clinic first but Bisola insisted we go later to avoid missing our attendance. Bisola had been complaining about reoccurring headaches and body weakness, we’d been having fun trying to diagnose her ourselves. This episode began on Sunday evening but she had been postponing going to the hospital because of so much course work. There’s always so much to do and so little time. The first time we went to the hospital, I insisted on following her and the doctor said she thinks it’s somatic. I spent the rest of my day reading up on somatic medicine and I couldn’t understand it.

4:15 pm and we can finally catch a break, we dropped our bags at college and left for the hostel to have our nap time. I spent the next 45 minutes in and out of sleep while dreaming about my possible upcoming test questions. Our last CA test was in January and we failed woefully after all our reading so we both decided to up our reading game by increasing our reading hours. This was eating into our nap time but anything for medicine. I woke up to my 5 pm alarm tired and excited, it was time to prepare Bisola’s surprise organized by her boyfriend Kosi. I called him and told him to get ready while I woke Bisola from her nap.

*

The first thing I noticed was the sleeping position, it was weird. Then I saw a little bit of red, then it kept increasing and getting brighter until all I could see was red. I don’t remember what happened but I later noticed some people peering in and rushing to see, it was all a blur. Three girls were carrying her out, I saw a slip of paper fall off her body and I automatically picked it up and stuffed it into my sweater. My movements were robotic, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. She was there one moment and the next she wasn’t. I could feel some people holding me as I followed the girls, I think I was screaming before because my throat felt raw and my ears kept ringing.

I walked immediately behind the girls and stopped outside once I saw Kosi. I had forgotten about the surprise already, he was standing in front of the hostel with his red roses and red shirt, from the corner of my eyes I saw the saxophonist who had puffed his cheeks ready to blow bringing down his instrument. In another scene, I would have giggled, but I couldn’t feel my lips right now. I couldn’t meet Kosi in the eye. The ambulance brought me back to reality and I rushed to enter, I kept staring at Bisola, her wrist bearing the bracelet I got for her last month streaked with the brightest shade of red. I couldn’t look away.

*

The five-minute ride to the hospital felt like an eternity. The doctor at the A&E tried to feel a pulse and shook her head. Everyone kept on talking in hushed tones. I heard the doctor asking for details and receiving half-baked explanations. I couldn’t focus, everything was happening too fast. I heard the doctor announce the time of death in a little voice, the same voice she used to whisper to the nurse that she understands the situation, that not everyone withstands the “pressure”

And I wanted to scream at them to do something, anything. I wanted to scream can’t you see she’s one of us, surely there’s something you can do. I wanted to scream that she was a medical student. That the “pressure” couldn’t possibly amount to this, that I peeked at the paper note I grabbed from her room and I wish I could prove her wrong. But I turned around because it was true, everything so still, voice hollowed, ears ringing and I ran.

Writer: Paula Ugwumba