Just before dawn, on Tuesday, 19 September, 2023, my older sister, Mrs Abosede Ajuwon, called to inform me that her 57- year-old husband had suffered a stroke the previous night and had been rushed to a hospital.
I was thunderstruck. The Mr Jeremiah Ajuwon that I knew did not seem like one to be stricken by stroke.
“How is he doing?” I asked, after momentarily recovering from my shock.
“He has been placed on a drip,” she replied. “But nothing else has been done and the doctor has gone to sleep.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, he is sleeping,” she repeated. “I’ve been going to disturb him but he says nothing can be done until 8:00 am when the lab will be opened and tests can be conducted on him.”
I further inquired if there was no better hospital around that could respond faster to the needs of the patient. She replied that they had previously tried two other hospitals but could not get the needed attention. The first was Covenant University Hospital, Ota, which was the closest to their residence in Atan, Ogun State. There, they had been told that his pulse was too low and he would need the services of an ICU, which the hospital did not have. They were referred to Ota General Hospital. Unfortunately, the gateman had turned them back, with the claim that the doctors were on strike.
Anguish and anger
Knowing how critical it is for a stroke patient to get prompt treatment, we were left feeling helpless and anguished – and very angry. Still, we kept praying, while frantically considering other options.
As information spread around the family, the anger and agitation mounted. Eventually, a brother-in-law to Ajuwon, Mr Adebanjo, discussed with a doctor, who had been known to successfully handle stroke cases in the past. The doctor, whose hospital is in Ipaja area of Lagos, said the patient could be brought to his facility but that a CT scan of his brain must be done before coming.
Almost immediately, efforts were made to transfer Ajuwon to the recommended hospital. As instructed, the CT scan was done on the way and presented on arrival, at about 1:00pm. Sadly, the doctor, who had encouraged us to bring the patient, was said to have gone for a meeting and did not respond to calls to his phone. Worse still, another doctor, who was the main doctor’s assistant, made no effort to attend to Ajuwon. Instead, he repeatedly queried the decision to bring the patient, in the first place. He said the hospital had no facility or expertise to handle such a case and therefore he could not be bothered to make any effort.
Once again, we found ourselves in deep dismay, as time ticked away – together with any chance of Ajuwon’s survival. Incidentally, by this time, the patient had regained a bit of consciousness. He occasionally moved his left hand and left leg but his eyes remained closed. With nothing left to do at the hospital but to keep waiting for the doctor, whose time of return we were not sure of, we began to think of what else to do.
Hapless hope
It was at this time that we got in touch with a nurse, who informed us that Lagos State University Teaching Hospital (LASUTH) might be our best bet. According to her, not only did the hospital have relatively better facilities and experts – as is common with most government hospitals – but also had a special unit for stroke patients. We were assured that as long as we had money to pay the huge bills, the stroke unit would offer the best of treatment and attention for the recovery of the patient.
Right away, we began to think of how to convey Ajuwon to LASUTH. By this time, it was getting to 4:00pm and the main doctor had arrived. When he saw the condition in which his colleague had left the patient, he was furious. He said he had expected that, as a professional, the doctor should have, at least, got a few basic things going for the patient. He expressed readiness to begin treating the patient but said there was a snag – the neurologist to attend to him was not immediately available.
That was the last cue we needed to finally decide for LASUTH. We told the doctor of our plan and he raised no objection. We also requested a referral letter and he obliged us. The next thing we needed was an ambulance. We discussed this with the doctor and he offered to link us up with another hospital that had one.
Considering the patient’s condition, we were actually expecting a standard emergency ambulance with the necessary medical equipment and trained personnel. What we got, instead, was a jalopy, operated by two young men, who looked more like dabblers than professionals. In short, the only things that gave the vehicle a semblance of an ambulance were the hospital name on it and the non-functional siren on its roof.
Seeing our desperation, the young men gave us an outrageous bill of N40,000, for a journey of about 15 km (30 minutes of driving). We could only haggle that to N35,000 since we had no time to spare. The “ambulance” drivers subsequently brought out a wonky field stretcher, with which they conveyed Ajuwon into their vehicle.
The inside of the vehicle was worse. While the outside was dismal, the inside was dangerous. The stretcher bearing the patient was placed on the floor of the makeshift ambulance, with deadly iron bars close to his head. Fortunately, my sister and I were made to sit beside him, while the driver and his assistant went to the front, happy to have struck a goldmine.
Whether it was this excitement of having hit the jackpot or the desire to impress us, the wannabes immediately began to speed on the bumpy road, making the car rock violently and the patient’s head almost hitting the metal bars. My sister tried using her hand as a wedge, while we cautioned the young men. We had to eventually ask them to stop the car, so they could come to reposition the stretcher for the patient’s safety. With that sorted, we managed to endure the frightful ride to LASUTH.
Sham and scam at LASUTH
We got to LASUTH at about 4:45 pm and immediately went to the emergency unit. We were told to remain outside, while a doctor would come to attend to us. The doctor came soon after and made necessary enquiries about the condition of the patient, as well as his lifestyle and medical history. Thereafter, he requested the CT scan and examined it. He then told us that while the patient could be admitted in the emergency ward, the stroke unit was a much more advisable option for specialised treatment and recovery.
With no time to waste, we proceeded to the accounts section, after making necessary enquiries from the stroke unit. Thinking we were paying for admission into the emergency ward, the accounts personnel gave us a bill of N41,000, but when we told them that it was the stroke unit, we were billed N275,000. The astronomical difference was daunting but we wanted the best treatment, as we had been assured.
However, if we thought that the completion of our “elite” payment plan would ensure immediate treatment for the patient, we were mistaken. While the payment was made at about 6:00 pm, the patient was not admitted to the stroke unit until about 9:00pm. Worse still, Ajuwon remained in that jalopy outside of the emergency unit, without any form of treatment throughout the time.
As anyone can imagine, that three-hour interval was about the most harrowing that we had to endure. What actually happened was that, immediately after we indicated that we had paid, we were directed to an office where my sister filled a form and necessary information about the patient was taken. Then she was given a list of drugs to purchase for the patient, which she did. Thereafter, we were asked to wait outside for “a team of specialists” that would come to assess his condition.
We waited endlessly for this “team” to arrive. At some point, my anxious sister kept trying to remind the nurse that had the patient’s file of the critical nature of his illness and the fact that the ambulance was hired. The nurse simply ordered her to remain outside and wait for the doctors. Meanwhile, by this time, the ambulance guys had become very restless and kept hounding us to do something about our patient, as they needed to leave. The more we pleaded, the more they pestered. When the pestering became unbearable, I decided to go see the nurse myself and the more aggressive of the boys decided to follow me, since he felt my sister and I were being too docile.
The stern-looking nurse did not wait for us to finish our inquiry before angrily ordering us out. “I don’t repeat myself,” she said. “Go ask your sister what I told her.” Even the restless young man became speechless when he saw the nurse’s disposition. As we stepped out of the ward, I gave him an “I told you so” look, and he replied that it was all because we were still being “too calm”. He said the next step might be to create a scene, so the hospital could understand how dire the situation was. I quickly pointed his attention to a notice at two strategic points at the entrance of the ward, stressing the right of medical personnel to refuse attending to a patient, if they considered either the patient or their relative as being confrontational. For obvious reasons, the Patient’s Bill of Rights was nowhere in sight.
Meanwhile, as we continued our agonising wait, the distraught wife of the patient intermittently spoke comforting words to her husband, with the hope that he could hear her in his semi-conscious state. Of course, despite the prolonged starvation and distress to which he had been subjected, he kept showing his fighting spirit with little movements.
“Sorry, Dear,” she whimpered to him, fighting back tears. “Look at what they are doing to you. Look at the stress they are making you go through. See the bulging veins on your head. But don’t worry, you will be fine soon.”
Little did she know that even greater horrors awaited him!
Journey to the slaughter slab
At about 7:45 pm, the expected “team” eventually arrived, encased in the body of a young female doctor, who asked questions similar to what the first doctor had asked. She also did a few examinations on him and left afterwards. This was followed by another round of waiting.
When we ventured to inquire of the nurse that we had earlier seen, she said a “comprehensive report” was being written on the patient, which would be transferred to the stroke unit. About an hour later, another female specialist came to examine the patient, and a few minutes after, we were led to the stroke unit by a nurse bearing the file containing information about the patient.
We got to the stroke unit shortly before 9 pm. To convey the patient from the vehicle to the ward, we requested a rolling stretcher but were told the unit did not have one. We were given a wheelchair, instead. We told them that the patient was semi-conscious, and they said we had to use the stretcher that came with the ambulance. Already impatient to leave, the ambulance guys were rough in conveying Ajuwon. In fact, in their haste, they forgot that a catheter was attached to him. We had to remind them of the dangling device.
The nurses stood by as the boys took Ajuwon in. When they got to the bed assigned to him, they wanted to simply flip the stretcher to get rid of the patient, as quickly as possible. A nurse saw them and exclaimed that they should not do so. This should have alerted the nurse that the boys were charlatans but she did nothing as the visibly frustrated boys continue to fiddle with the patient. Soon, his trousers were halfway down and his diaper was on full display. As they made one last attempt to forcibly pull off the stretcher from under him, one of the sides twisted and hooked the patient’s diaper, nearly yanking it off. Their attention had to be quickly brought to this. It could have been his flesh that got hooked.
Shameful shenanigans
As I stood by the ambulance boys to lend a helping hand where necessary, the nurses at the reception had cornered my sister with a long list of sanitary items to be bought in “caring” for the patient. She was directed to a store, whose proprietor we later realised to be a trusted accomplice of the nurses.
Immediately the ambulance boys left, I flopped on a chair in the corridor, waiting for my sister to arrive. Just then, a woman met me and said she had been assigned to be the carer for Ajuwon for the days he would be spending there. For the initial 10 days, we were to pay her N20,000 that night. Thereafter, should the patient stay any day extra, we would pay N2000 for each day.
Of course, we had been informed – when I went to make the initial enquiry – that the stroke unit had carers who had the exclusive right to be employed to care for any patient. According to them, no relative was allowed to care for their patient. The carer gave me her account number and I transferred the N20,000 to her.
Soon, I was able to locate the store where my sister had been sent shopping. It was then I understood why she had delayed – what the nurses asked her to buy for the patient to use in 10 days was enough for any family to use for months! Nearly everything had to be the biggest size or in a bumper pack – jars of bleach, disinfectants, soaps, wipes, name it. Curiously, even some things we already brought with us, the store woman said the exact variant or brand that was listed must be bought – else, the nurses would reject them. Then, when we were done, we asked the woman to return the paper containing the listed items, so we could use it to confirm that all the items had been bought. She refused, saying the nurses had forbidden her from returning such a list to the customer.
Back in the ward, we presented the items to the nurses, together with the bag containing the medications we had bought at the emergency unit and other items. This was almost 10 pm and we observed that no attention of any sort was being given to the patient, despite his critical state. Famished, fagged out and thinking we had done our best to commit Ajuwon to the best hands, as we had been assured, we announced to the nurses that we needed to retire for the day and return the next day. But the worst was yet to come. (To be continued).
very very sad, what kind of country is this now?
This was sad to read