The dark room was enveloped in a cacophony of eerie silence, occasionally interrupted by the rythmic beeping of the life support machine so strategically placed at the head of the hospital bed. Yes, the alarmingly disturbing red light twinkling from the machine cannot be missed too, especially as the pitch was black. Mr Ajewole laid still on the bed with a somewhat darker skin.
It was 12.33am on a wicked Saturday morning, when at least three accident victims had been wheeled into the hospital. The first incident was merely twenty-three minutes ago when virtually the whole hospital jumped to life with the ear offending screeching of an old stretcher. As if in cue, the two accident victims wheeled in were screaming quite agonisingly. Definitely from the pain of the unfortunate accident but also encumbered by the uncomfortable stretcher and the nonchalant way by which they were being moved. It sure was a miracle how they successfully got to the two inches mattress bed without giving up the ghost. “Strong people those.”
Mrs Ajewole had given up on sleeping after the screaming campaign and resolved to just listen to the now distinguishable moans of the patients around her. Over the last couple of weeks, she had come to familiarise herself with a couple of the patients that share the room with her husband. There were six patients in total. Three were comatose, Mr Sam Ajewole inclusive; and three others suffering from a wide range of third degree burns. They were all wrapped up form head to toe in white bandages making them look suspiciously like the Egyptian mommies. The way their red eyes and a little potion of their mouths are the only thing visible is quite scary. Even the lips are bandaged.
She had always thought about how insensitive the hospital management was to put patients of disparaging medical conditions together in the same room. But then again, the comatosed wont really mind the unending winces and writhes of pain.
“How could anyone get a good night sleep in this place?” Mrs Ajewole thought.
Mr Ajewole had been stucked in the sleep state for close to forty-five days. Even so, the occasional presence of the doctor draws a terrifying look of contempt from Mrs Ajewole’s face. She hated his hubris.
“I think he’s doing quite well today.” A clearly exhaused Dr Okon said.
She battered her strangely long eyes lashes at him, not a tad bit sympathetic to the kind of busy night the doctor had.
“Oh, is he now?!”
“Yes! I’m sure he’ll come around. The adjustment period should be over with by now.”
Mr Ajewole shifted on the chair and just then, one of the noisy neighbors gave out a heavy yelp. The doctor turned around sharply, obviously stunned.
“Please doctor, can you move us to a private room? I mean, these screams are definitely not helping his recovery. Don’t you think?!”
The doctor walked briskly to patient B, as Mrs Ajewole had so named him. Systemically cyclic. He had a brief chat with the nurses who turned his IV drip on a notch and returned to Mrs Ajewole after a couple of minutes.
“Ok, I’ll have the nurse move you to a vacant room upstairs. It’s private and VIP. I’m sure you’ll like it and of course, it comes with an increased bill.” He said, with a smirk.
Mrs Ajewole contemplated thanking him but thought against it. After all, it would reflect in the next bill.
The new room was fairly large. A much bigger bed was placed in one corner and the windows overlook the metropolis. There was not much noise on the floor, only occasional chatters. All the rooms on the floor were locked and blindfolded. The nurses filed out of the room after setting it up and she thanked them for their help. She locked the door behind them and savoured the new niche. It had a warming butter coloured theme and was more so quite warm and of course, private. A landscaped picture hung by the north wall, with a ‘Get Well Soon’ text boldly emblazoned. A comfy looking sofa rested on the east wall and it was flanked by a small glass table with a flower vase atop.
She drew a boul of water from beneath the bed and got a towel from her stack. She went ahead to rub Mr Ajewole’s body and was glad she could actually undress him fully and wipe every area clean without prying eyes.
She had been wiping him since the first day, even though it was a service the nurses could render. She always felt some parts of her husband should not be touched or felt by others. The nurses do a terrible job at wiping patients clean anyway.
Dedicated to Nurse Antonia. Keep saving lives. 💉💊