The Rose Field Hospital

Finding the hospital to go to wasn't hard. As I have already said a million times, I have access to countless stories happening even at this moment so I could easily find out any information that I had already been exposed to and is currently being exposed to.

So I'm well-versed in the myriad details of every accessible place for humans, knowing that in an emergency, opting for a hospital with extensive facilities is advisable.

While private hospitals may seem like the best choice, it's not always the case, as some of them can be negligent.

I didn't select the hospital based on whether it was private or government-owned. Stripping away those classifications and categorizing all the hospitals in Enugu based on their offerings, there's only one: The Rose Field Hospital, owned by a British-Nigerian couple.

It's a shame really that some of the best amenities in Nigeria were brought in by foreigners but that's a story for another day.

After enduring what felt like ages of the worst driving ever, luckily, it was nighttime, and the traffic was sparse. The streets were so deserted that one could lie on the road for an hour or two without any single car passing by...

Driving in the middle of the night in Enugu, Nigeria, was a risky endeavor, with numerous potential threats. However, given my knowledge of every human, I could easily navigate carefully to avoid any possible dangers.

Fortunately, the route we took had no such threats, so the journey was only marred by the horrid driving.

Upon arriving at the hospital, there was an abrupt shift from a dimly lit environment to the brightly illuminated and well-spaced hospital complex. The complex comprised more than seven buildings, each soaring to around five stories high.

The hospital complex was designed with various access points, including smooth roads for wheelchairs, stairs, and elevators.

Each building seamlessly led into another, and in every section, there was a map of the entire hospital complex to prevent anyone from getting lost.

We found ourselves in the accident and emergency section, surrounded by dozens of people, each bearing looks more dire than Chimsy's.

It made her appear almost trivial when placed next to a guy with half of his brain exposed. His friend clutched his skull, while the doctors swiftly wrapped his head with bandages after inspecting the gruesome injury.

'Good friend ' I looked at the two friends and could hear his thoughts. The wounded man's friend, gripped by fear, struggled to maintain composure, masking the terror within.

Contemplating his own apprehension, he pondered, "If I were in this state, how would Chinedu be coping?" Within his mind, a desperate plea reverberated ceaselessly "Please don't die," each whispered repetition echoing with the heavy burden of anxiety.

A woman in her mid-thirties came toward us, attempting a cheerful facade that couldn't conceal the weariness etched across her mind. The exhaustion, however, wasn't a product of her workplace.

Having commenced her night shift merely two hours earlier, she was already drained, not from work but from the demands of her household.

Juggling three kids and a husband with relatives frequently extending their visits to several months, her fatigue stemmed from the relentless responsibilities at home.

Currently, the husband's two brothers are staying over. With the husband's two brothers presently under their roof, she bore the sole responsibility for their financial support, diligently attending to household chores, cooking, and running errands to meet their needs.

The weight of these duties added to her overwhelming fatigue.

In an unsettling role, she resembled a fancy slave to these individuals, enduring mistreatment from her husband, and even facing physical punishment for the slightest lapses in her perceived duties.

Even her own children pretty much treated her the same way, except that they didn't beat her whenever she fell short or made mistakes. Despite the immense pressure, it was a wonder how she managed to keep herself together.

In the accidents and emergency section, each person faced their challenges, but she seemed to bear the heaviest burden.

While others' predicaments were beyond control, she held the potential to reshape her fate. With confidence, she could navigate a path to improvement, choosing a route that might be challenging but promising a better outcome than enduring the life of a fancy slave.

Despite being in her mid-thirties, the weight of her endured suffering had aged her far beyond her years. Her skin, hardened and lacking in vitality, bore the physical toll of the hardships she had weathered.

Her hands, adorned with callouses, and her calves, as firm as those of a seasoned runner, hinted at a life of strenuous toil.

The toll was evident as if she was being trained for an intergalactic war. Once taller, her stature now bore the mark of burdens, hunched into a noticeably shorter form.

Facing such horrendous suffering, Chimsy might have succumbed immediately.

Alternatively, who knows, perhaps Chimsy could have navigated the situation more effectively, standing up to the husband and his relatives, and showing them what they truly deserved.

But this was the real world. In the harsh reality of the real world, certain aspirations can seem impossibly distant, demanding sacrifices that are hard to fathom.

For her, the reluctance to let go of her cherished children took precedence, even though they appeared unaware of the depth of their mother's suffering, having grown accustomed to its presence in their lives.

It depicted a poignant struggle where the perceived impossibility of certain goals clashed with the undeniable desire to protect and hold onto the ones she loved.

"Victoria " the word escaped my mouth before I knew it. I was filled with so much pity for her that I felt like dealing with her problems myself.

It was never like this before, when I was in the great library. In the great library, the stories that flowed through my consciousness felt like distant tales.

Now, witnessing events unfold before my very eyes, empathy began to seep into my understanding.

The firsthand experience brought a new perspective, making those once-distant narratives more tangible and stirring a deeper sense of connection.

The lady did not seem too shocked or even surprised that I did know her name even though she had forgotten to wear her name tag. She was still struggling with the smile on her face which seemed like trying to glue together a glass vase that broke into a million pieces.

This was one of the many reasons I despised humans; the things they did to themselves were so despicable that even if the world were to end at this very moment I would think that it was probably for the best.

She guided us to an open room with many people waiting to be admitted. The ones that needed attention were already being attended to despite the fact that they hadn't paid anything.

That was when a doctor that was going to see Chimsy came in and that was when all the questions came raining in.

The doctor swiftly moved to the side of the bed that Chimsy was lying on and put on his hand gloves and then checked her pulse and breathing.

In an aura of calm certainty, the doctor serenely placed his index and middle fingers on the stranger's neck, checking for the carotid pulse.

Despite his face being partially concealed by the mask, an air of tranquility radiated from him, adding to the assurance in the room.

With just five years of practice under his belt, the doctor had relatively limited experience, but all these five years of dedicated work across various hospital units hinted at a growing proficiency and understanding of his craft.

"Hello there! What happened to her? " he looked at me and smiled.

Of course, you still couldn't see that because his face was half covered by a piece of face mask but I knew because I'm me and because one could note the squint in his eyes when he started smiling.