A grave-side activist

‘Haba Bint, why did you keep her for so long? Her husband and mother-in-law have been waiting outside for minutes. It seems they have somewhere else to go from here. But you kept her with you and even held her hand like someone delivering your dying wishes.’ Tahir complained.  ‘I’m sorry it looked like that […]

‘Haba Bint, why did you keep her for so long? Her husband and mother-in-law have been waiting outside for minutes. It seems they have somewhere else to go from here. But you kept her with you and even held her hand like someone delivering your dying wishes.’ Tahir complained. 

‘I’m sorry it looked like that to you’ I replied weakly ‘but you know the young lady is a medical doctor….’ 

‘So what if she is?’ Tahir interrupted ‘you have seen all kinds of doctors in the last few weeks. Consultants, specialists, resident doctors, all the qualified medical practitioners you needed have seen you. What difference would consulting a young house officer make?’ He demanded.

‘You don’t understand Tahir, I was not consulting with her to know anything more about my illness. At this point, I’m almost certain I know better than anybody else about it. I was just urging her to see my condition as one that can be prevented with due diligence on the part of doctors. I was the victim of a misdiagnosis, other victims did not live to tell their story. When she expressed sympathy on hearing what I went through, I decided that it would be a good idea to mobilise her and other young doctors like her to work on preventing such occurrences. 

I mean you were a living witness to all the pain and suffering I went through, and needlessly too. Would you want to see anybody you know suffer the same way again?’ I asked. 

‘Of course not Wifey dearest’ he replied, walking over to my side of the bed to sit next to me ‘but there is no need to act as if you have never known worse pain than this one. I mean you had been through childbirth four times. You surely can’t say that anything can be worse than that. Yet you didn’t go on and on about this, even recruiting anyone who comes to visit you into a crusade of sorts.’ He alleged. 

‘Now, look who is exaggerating. I told you that the only reason I spoke to my cousin’s daughter in law is because she is a doctor, therefore in a position to influence things. And yes, this pain I’d been through was worse than any labour pain I’d had in all my four deliveries. Do you know why? Because in labour pains, there are intervals between contractions and the pain is localised in only the lower section of one’s abdomen. In the pain I’d just survived, the pain encompasses all of my abdomen, there is no break between painful sessions and nothing could bring me relief until the doctors injected me with some strong drugs to knock me off. Otherwise they had nothing for my pain. They could neither treat it nor relieve it, and it was borne out of their mistake. How can you expect me to forget something like this so easily?’ I asked in anger.

‘I am not asking you to forget it but just to turn another leaf, to move on, and above all to accept that it was a test of faith sent to you from Almighty Allah.’ Tahir replied in a conciliatory tone. 

‘Believe me that’s the only reason I am lying on this bed and not on my way to court. If I had not decided to accept it as a trial from Allah SWT, I would have gone to court even on a wheelchair. How can people be so careless with other people’s lives and all we do is to turn the other cheek and let them continue as if nothing is wrong. Ever since my misdiagnosis, I have heard about two more cases in the same hospital neither of which they were prosecuted for. Do you think they would get away with this in their own country? Why are we willing to tolerate so much from foreigners because we have decided to believe they are above reproach? Do you think they would have subjected me to this treatment, based only on a blood test when I had no other accompanying symptoms, if I had been one of them? 

But like you already know, all I said to the doctor was that I was having abdominal pains. He did a physical exam and immediately recommended a blood test, which I did. Half an hour later, he told me I had typhoid and a bit of gastritis. He prescribed drugs and told me to get them at the pharmacy. Two days after I started the drugs, I still has no fever and no headache, which were the chief symptoms of typhoid, but my stomach pains, as you knew, were only getting worse. I had sleepless nights and painful days. By the time I went back to them the doctor was busy boasting that he had given me the best typhoid drugs they had. I had to insist that I had no typhoid because my Internet search on typhoid symptoms showed that I had none. All that so-called foreign doctor used to diagnose me was that doubtful blood test. I’m so glad it was you and not me who insisted that I go to that hospital. I was content to go our old family physician but when we couldn’t get him on phone you said “Well why don’t we just go to that new, well equipped hospital?” And now look at the result.’ I concluded.

‘I see, so all this while you are trying to find a way to blame me for your woes. But I only suggested that to help you, I didn’t want you to remain in pain while we tried to find your famous trusted doctor.’ Tahir replied in his defence. 

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way hubby dearest. But the endoscopy did show that I ended up with collapsed intestines and hiatus hernia or whatever they call it. And those two combined were more than any labour pain I ever knew. That’s why I’ve become obsessed with the idea of preventing any future misdiagnosis.’ I answered, patting the hand he had lying next to mine. 

‘It’s more like you are obsessed with becoming a grave side activist Bint. I mean you are still confined to your sick bed but you are organising young doctors towards your agenda.’ 

To be continued.