Madness 101

Help.

Help, again.

You would think that after my last letter to that amazing patient, other patients would have taken corrections and brought along their senses to the hospital. 

They didn’t. 

It reminded me of one time in 2022 when I complained about the power going off in my hostel for a day, and then two weeks later, I experienced a blackout for a year that affected my headspace.  

But for these patients, I refuse to believe that I attract crazy people because opposites ought to attract and I’m clearly not sane. Do they not know this?

Something is wrong.

Is it my plastic smile that is misleading? No, it must be the ward coat that adds a false sense of puffery and professionalism drawing them closer. 

Since that letter, I have met crazier people who have triggered all the anger issues I thought I left in my past.

I have met badly-trained kids, nonchalant mothers, irksome relatives, annoying doctors, entitled patients, and finally, a crazy one.

For a week now, I have tried to inhale some sanity.

I decided to look at things from an empathetic perspective, just to channel the characteristics of Jesus in me since I am made in his image and likeness.

I smiled more, and even turned the other cheek to a colleague who was getting on my nerves too. Peaceful Labake. Jesus’ baby. Easy going. Reserved. 

Until two days ago when I met a patient.

He looked oddly familiar and I wondered why but I carried on my duties nonetheless.

I am not mindless when I am working because most things require my attention.

If you remember, I always put my patients first too, as a reminder of my selflessness.

Unfortunately, I decided to attend to him.

I retrieved the furosemide tablets from the store that he needed, a loop diuretic that I can only now wish I had exchanged for an antipsychotic medication. 

I called his name as written on the prescription. 

Just so you know, every patient is called by the name on their prescription—young, old, crazy, sane, male, female, bi-gender. 

I noticed that he stalled for a while, and shuffled his feet before standing up.

I told him to come in.

He walked in reluctantly and went ahead to ask me why I called him by his surname just like that. 

At that point, I was trying to scribble the remaining drug that was out of stock on the back of his receipt.

All of a sudden, the simple process of writing the name of a single drug was as intense as writing an examination that even my fingers stiffened. 

As soon as he noticed that I did not respond, he asked me if I knew that his father was a king.

His father was a king in a very very big kingdom.

He said it over and over and strung along more statements in Yoruba that I thankfully did not understand and so could not interpret easily. 

He did not stop.

He continued to tell me that even big people do not call him by his surname and asked me again if I think I have the right to call him without adding ‘Mr’ before his name. 

I continued scribbling. He kept talking. I continued scribbling.

‘If your father is a king and you care so much about titles, why don’t you let him treat you?’

Or better still ‘Why don’t you visit the physicians or diviners in the kingdom?’

‘Is it that they cannot help you effectively manage hypertension?’ I was so curious to ask him these questions but my tongue was held without my will.

It must be that Jesus is truly creating a new heart within me. 

As soon as I was done scribbling, I pointed to my illegible handwriting at the back of his receipt to let him know the drug that he needed to get outside the hospital. 

He didn’t hear at once and it must be because I generally talk too fast. 

I reduced my pace and repeated the same words.

He nodded his head. I handed him his drugs.

He shuffled his feet again before leaving and only when he closed the door did I shake my head. 

The senior pharmacist beside me started laughing as soon as he noticed my expression and concluded that the patient that just left was a borderline psychotic patient.  

I asked him how he knew and between fits of laughter, he replied that the man had to be because he did not understand what just happened. 

I didn’t either. 

Is there a madness pandemic? Is it the country? Is it me? Help.