Relationships can be very complicated. In fact it is the reason for most human miseries and the unhappiness that fills people’s lives. Most people walking around are putting up with a lot of shit in the name of love. Relationships should be a haven of peace and a place full of laughter. Most of the time, this is not the case. It is all drama. But again folks, you can never understand what goes on between two people who f*ck.
Last Saturday was quite a busy Saturday for me. After revising for my exams that were due for the following week, I passed by casualty to do a little thing here and there to remind me that medicine is not all about books. Dr. Mangar was the neurosurgeon registrar on call. When I walk with Doc Mangar, I always feel like a brain surgeon. He gives me excess charges that may intoxicate you if you are new to his teachings. On that day, I was to learn more than brain surgery.
Just before I got oriented with what was happening at the casualty, a young man was wheeled to resuscitation room B , agitated and with breathing difficulties. The pungent smell of pesticide that emanated from his breath told the tale of a man who was on the brink of tragedy. There was no time to waste folks, we had to do something to stabilise this guy. As a doctor, you just never give up on a young chap. You will never forgive yourself if it is your fault that a young man or woman dies.
The ECG clips were quickly set up on him as the nurse rushed to bring nasogastric tube and everything else we would need to help this young man . Doc Mangar was relaxed. He knew he was in charge and that the boy would walk out of casualty alive. I like the tiny smile he makes when everyone else has no clue what is supposed to be done except him. He reminds me regularly that a brain surgeon ought to know everything. I mean if you can grasp brain surgery, everything else should be simple.
So I put in the nasogastric tube as quick as I could. It was my first NG tube insertion and funny enough, despite my difficulties, he never offered to help. Simple things, he said. We then infused three litres of fluid into the guy’s stomach till you could shake him and hear water move from side to side. After that, we placed a bucket at the foot of the bed and turned him to one side such that the tip of the tube pointed towards the bucket. Lo and behold! Diluted pesticide was flowing from the guy like a tap. He looked at me with mercy written all over his face. He wanted to tell me what happened but he could not. The poison filled the room with the torrid stench. This was what pests had to breath before they die. After the removal of pesticide from his stomach, we ensured he was well hydrated to keep his kidneys protected.
Later when we got the history, this man was in no business to end his life. If he met his death on that day, I don’t know what he would have told God. He had been pinned down by two ladies and the pesticide forced down his throat. The ladies must have been very strong to get the better of this guy. You know you must be fit a lady to force poison down the throat of a man at his prime. What could make two ladies bay for the life of one man? May be the guy was drawing from two wells with impunity. May be he was just not lucky on that day or Karma just carried the fateful day.
His mother looked at him as she shed tears of despondency. She pitied her son. It is always our mothers who stand by us if things get out of hand. If the world turns its back on us. Cheating men don’t deserve to die. They have a right to life. If they have to die, then not like cockroaches and bed bugs.