DAVE

It had to be a genius who was first to tell a patient, “you have a bad heart, let me go get a cow valve and put it in it,” and the patient replied “well, sure Doc.” But then, Science.

Doctor David Silva’s a hundred-hour week ended on a note of bliss. “that look like a splendid aortic valve replacement Doctor Silva.” Said the Consultant, Doctor Audu, also head of the cardiothoracic department leading the best programme in the country. Dave wasn’t really listening to him; he was perfectly still waiting for the heartbeat. This was the critical moment. He had ordered the patient to be taken off bypass, blood flow should have returned, the heart of the person on the table should… pump… any… minute… now! Dave sighed. “and we have strong heart beats.” He said, quite pleased with himself.

Doctor Audu, nudged him, despite the face mask on the older man’s face, Dave could see the smile on his eyes as crowfeet deepened on the corners of his eye. He then began to remove his gloves.

“thank you Sir.” He replied, with a nod, then said happily and proudly with gusto to the surgical team, “and we are ready to close. Great Job everyone.” Applause echoed on the adjoined gallery, that seemed to dampen the mood—he had almost forgotten the audience over there, house officers and first year residents.

This batch of surgeries was one of his many firsts, and the taste of victory gets tainted moments by moments by what Queen told him was ‘irrational family consciousness’, not in a mean way. She didn’t have parents on the board of the hospital, and as much as he was most likely to be wrong, kept to the notion that nothing he gets around here would be totally on merit. So, he worked hard, made sure he earned everything he got, and even then, he double checks every offer. Maybe Queen was right, maybe he was just paranoid.

Doctor Silva obtained his medical education at the Washington university school of medicine. He remembered waking up one winter morning when he was supposed to send his residency application to John Hopkins with the sudden resolve to return back to Nigeria and that was it. He earned his licence, did his youth service, and began residency.  He’ll give an arm to learn at a different hospital in the country—one that his very influential family couldn’t pulling strings in the background—but the programme here had ranked best for three years in a row, and if anyone deserve to learn here, he was more than qualified and had met every requirement to the letter. He wouldn’t deny himself the opportunity.

He’d flawlessly done his stitches, and packed the guy up for the CCU.

The rushing cold water from the faucet slapped on his wrist and jerked Dave back to reality. The downside of the rush a surgeon experience in an Operating Room—simply called OR for short—is that nature comes demanding. He was so tired he was practically dozing off. On top of his shifts, he’d been up all night the past five days rehearsing the procedures and following up on the patients’ chart. It didn’t help that all he could hear sometimes was Madam Silva, his mother, say over and over again in his mind—like she heard her say over a glass of Martini sometimes ago, “baby steps baby, every single surgery, every single patient is a stepping stone to putting you on the map. Don’t screw it up.” he wanted to ask what her if she had anything to do with the special privileges Doctor Audu had given him to do series of bovine valve replacements.“and I know you’re wondering if I had anything to do with this,” the woman laughed, “oh yes, you have a tell just like your father,” She scoffed, “whatever it is with you men. anyway, no. I wouldn’t compromise medicine for my Son, and you need to trust the fact that you deserved this.” Dave had learnt on more than one occasion to take his mother’s words with a pinch of salt. He couldn’t deny the fact that it made him feel better, for a while. “you really need to learn to relax those brows.”  Madame Silva said, patting his hand on the banister gently, then returned to the mileage at the fundraiser.

He began washing his hands, half elated, half feeling like shit. He grabbed a neatly folded towel on the nearby counter and cleaned his hands. He stared back at the adjoining window and sighed. The scrub nurses and OR staffs were cleaning up after him. The cheif consultant was long gone. It was over and just like every time, the guy made it off the table alive. His third valve replacement in just one week.

The swinging door to the OR soundlessly opened, the circulation OR nurse smiled. “congratulations.” Said the woman.

“thank you.” He replied, “please could I get real time post op updates?”

The woman smiled, that condescending smile adults give obstinate children. Nurse Hannah is one of the eldest Nurse in the OR, she also likes to follow patient’s post-operation. In her eyes you see the woman who have seen a lot, and she had. So, Dave could imagine her thinking, fresh bloods, they just don’t know how to rest, then possibly come up with one of her cryptic sayings. “you’ve done enough.” She said, “a mind half rested…” she left Dave to complete the rest and turned to leave. On her way out the door, she turned back, “but I’ll call you if there’s something.”

“thank you.”

Dave followed up on the patient’s chart, dotting his I and crossing his ts. Hoping the next doctor to come along has the needed information to take care of the patient.

Segun, a fellow resident surgeon who took transfer for a programme here few months ago was on the bed reading Greenberg’s ‘handbook on neurosurgery’ in on-call room 8, their shared space. He rolled over and sat when he entered. “heard you helped gave three traumatized heart a cow valve.”

“something like that.” He replied, as he sat, pull out his shoes, then scrubs. He changed into a t-shirt and pair of trousers. “how did your day go?”

The frown on Segun’s face was prelude to bad news. “Doctor tight panties had me testing reflexes, and babysitting that a hydrocephalus kid when my peers are out there changing the face of medicine, she’d rather have me eliciting crack pot sign and emptying bed pans.” He said. Doctor tight-panties is Doctor Alex Queen, the chief of neurosurgery herself, someone Segun had pissed off when he ditched his patients to impress Dave’s mother, and steal a fellow resident’s case. It is only Dave that called her Queen—even then in private—everyone knows her by Alex. She confided in Dave one night that

“you ditched her service.” Dave said matter-of-factly, “She’s still mad about that?” Dave asked, avoiding being the one to state the obvious. Segun had rough edges of his own, which combined with the no-nonsense work ethic of Dr Alex might result in certain species of unpleasantness.

“that was just once. I got a chance to observe assist your mum on a ground-breaking surgery when Doctor Alex would have me trying to convince a woman with a death wish about the grave condition of her aneurism,” Dave had heard that excuse over and over. “okay, accepted, what I did wasn’t cool.”

“I hear you.” Dave muttered.

“don’t be such a goody two shoes.” Segun stood up and dropped the book and stretched. He yawned.

“you’d have to make it up to her.” Dave suggested.

“before I’m forced to leave. I came for neurosurgery!” Segun shouted at the bunks, before his mopey facial expression transformed. Dave saw where this was going, with that I’ve-got-a-great-idea look before, when his ears seem to shot up wards and stay for moments his eyes grow wide as cue balls like they might pop out any second. “that’s why I need your help. Everyone knows she listens to you being her better half and all.” He had that sort of bright and mischievous look when he told Dave three months ago, when he drove Queen to work, and when asked about their relationship status he had told him to mind his business, they’re just going out. “I know where you come from, that is just going out, but here in this country that’s just one-point shy of moving in together after traditional wedding waiting for baby bump.” It was a ridiculous notion, but he insisted, “Seriously,” then smiled, “Segun E. Badebo.” extended a hand. Dave got to know that the E initial stands for ‘Elenu’ a Yoruba name meaning, big mouthed. Quite fitting.

“I’m not doing this dirty laundry.” Dave firmly refused. “no way Dude.”

“that’s not how I’d put it. more like some lingerie.” Said Segun, then raised his voice pleadingly when Dave huffed, annoyed, and was about to head out. “Hear me out.” he ate the distance and stood between him and the door, his hands clasped in a plea, “just help me talk to her. and I owe you.”

“you apologise first.”

Segun stamped his foot, punched the air. “yeah, I’ll apologise.” Dave could understand why someone like Segun might have problem with Alex, she was younger, she was a woman. And as Segun—who came from an albeit low ranked nobility—had confessed, was not use to taking orders from a woman.

“you’d have to let her win. Scout for interesting neurosurgery case at the accident and emergency. Easy way I get into any consultant’s service.” Dave said, trying to be sympathetic. To think of a resident not getting the needed training he deserved isn’t something to trifle with. Besides, in the game of medicine, residents have to stick together. “But I’ll talk to her.”

“my man!” Segun said, reopening the book. He laid back down.

His pager beeped. He hastily turned over, picked the gadget from the pile of clothes. The former mortified look returned. “Bisola took mine instead, she left in a rush, and…” he tried the shoes by the bunk, “she took my shoes instead.”

Dave raised a brow as the implication registered. “in my defence,” Segun loudly said raising a finger, realising that he’s let on too much, he stared at his feet as he walked out, “we weren’t...”

“I hear you. best wishes man.” Dave said, strapped his bag pack on. And hauled his tired ass out.

His usual route out of the hospital was through the wide opened entrance of the A and E. A woman strapped to a stretcher was being moved by and she was shouting, “make sure the police get that son of a bitch that did this to me!” straining against her straps and collar. “and why in the name of god can’t I feel my legs.” Then cursed in Ibo. I hope you get that fast Segun. Dave thought.

He was at the parking lot before it hits him that his car wasn’t there. He reached for his phone which has been in airplane mode for God knows how long and felt like groaning. a house officer had pleaded to take the car out for a ride two days ago, he came back talking about how he’s left the car at an auto mechanic shop to be serviced. Dave has been very busy to do that himself despite the odometer reading.

He scrolled the phone for the number of the technician, and tried calling when a car honked. He turned and at the sight of the car stopped the call. Again, he was staring at a family Name emblazoned in silver above the bumper of the black tarantula. The car was one of the many in his father’s fleet, that particular one is Mr Selman’s favourite. The man honked enthusiastically and craned his head, “you look like you could use a ride.”

Mr Selman had been head of his father’s personal security detail few years back before he retired, and had been in many ways a father figure. He now serves as the superintendent of the Silva Manor. You can trust retired General Silva, to keep the military/DSS vibes on.  Dave got to the passenger side, the old man had his all white hair neatly combed, crisply shaved facial hair, and was wearing a black tux with the tag ‘Superintendent’ neatly clipped on. His puzzled gaze must have elicited answers from the man. “had a little complaint, that’s why I came by.” The man turned on the ignition. “where’s your car?”

Dave launched on to explaining.

“lucky for you, my appointment is being delayed, the doctor’s flight got delayed or something,” the man said after a brief looked at his wristwatch. “strap on your seat belt.”

Dave rolled his mind’s eyes. “let me drive.” He offered, and would later wonder why he said that.

“not happening Kiddo.” Said the man in a confident tone that brooked no further argument. “besides, if you feel as tired as you look, I’m in better position to drive.”

“point taken.” He said. “what’s the complaint?” it wasn’t his place, but he had asked simply out of habit.

“I think it’s just acid reflux, but my wife, made the call, your mother made hers. Here I am.”

“you sure you are okay to drive?” that last bit about his mother, didn’t sit down well.

The man took a swig of water, then smiled, “let’s find out shall we?”

Dave leaned back on the head rest, as the car pulled out of the vicinity of Halley Silva memorial hospital Abuja.

“How’s father.” Dave asked. The last time he’s spoken with him was two weeks ago, and that was not until he cleared with his Personal Assistant who kept insisting that his father was very busy and would call him as soon as he gets the chance. It gets infuriating.

“out of the country as we speak.” Replied Selman, “should be back in a few weeks or so.”

He nodded. Colonel Silva (retired) has been the director of the country’s State Security Service for a decade, after which he had served as minister for defence for two tenures for the passing government, and just when anyone would think he should slow down, he’s making moves towards the coming presidential elections. He’d like to think that was why he had decided to come home, or why his father had approved it (not as if he couldn’t have just gone against his wishes anyway). He couldn’t help but see their hands shifting things around him, son to possibly the next president. The PR, the fundraisers, dinners, meetings he’d dragged his feet to attend, all with an undertone of promoting his family to the media. And there is the media, the sudden rekindled interest in one of the richest families in the country, and the son who chose to save lives. He recalled seeing his photograph on the back of a magazine at the hospital, chronicling his life and how he’s graduated top of his class, and he wasn’t even informed about it. He had stormed the manor when he figured his mother had given the permission on his behalf (as ridiculous as that sounds). The woman had simply smiled and calmly explained how he’s the perfect face of the family and how she was proud of that. He couldn’t forget all she said about surgeries putting him on the map. Could anyone really blame him if he sees his families’ fingers in every pie? Today went well, he reminded himself of how none of it matters if he can somehow find a way to live his life. He had changed, he thought, the old him would purposely do something to piss them off, but that’s not who he is anymore, he loved his life—which consisted of countless OR hours, books, and papers and research, and few extra events his father’s campaign kept throwing in. It’s also with their blessings that he’s been able to kick start his ‘save a heart outreach’ where children born with heart defect get correctional surgeries for free.

Mr Selman pulled off the drive way. He felt a pang of guilt when he thought of the last time he paid the man’s family a visit at the manor. The last time he spoke with the man’s son, his onetime best friends, was nothing short of two years ago. “I’m sorry I’ve not kept in touch with you. How’s the family?”

“fine. Martha sends her regards.” Martha was Mr Selman’s wife; she makes the best apple pie. At the time Mr Selman worked personal security for Dave’s father, Dave was quite fond of the family, one of the few that lived in his father’s mansion in Maitama and unlike everyone else around, they didn’t come from opulence. He always admired their family values, the simplicity with which they lived despite all they’ve become. How they somehow maintained his ideal of humanity.

It’s been long, but the man seems to have lost some weight. He wanted to ask more about the acid reflux, but was pretty sure if Mr Selman wanted to discuss his health issues with him he would, and the fact that he wouldn’t care to elaborate showed he wouldn’t. Dave never recalled anyone forcing the man to do something he wasn’t on board with except maybe Mrs Martha forcing him to help accompany her walk her many breeds of dog in the cool of the evening when he’d rather sit and read newspaper with a glass of wine nearby, or better still hit the gym or the shooting ring. He had taught Dave marksmanship, horse riding, and fostered his interest in martial arts before he was ten. Most of the time when he may never see his parent for days, Mr Selman was the one person that returns every evening, spend time with him on weekends and helps plan his schedules and vacation.

Dave was tired, and hungry, most importantly in need of a warm bath and long sleep. He leaned on the head rest and let sleep take him. He should have noticed the tremor in Mr Selman’s hand, or the time the older man clutched unto his chest trying to speak. But Dave was already asleep.

The squeal of brakes, the droning honk of horns, and screeching tires brought him to reality. Too late, he saw the car fishtailing towards a boy who seemed oblivious of the danger. Dave reached for the hand brake and pulled it as fast as he could. All that happened next was a blur. He ran unstrapped his seat belt and Mr Selman’s. “Try and breathe.” He instructed the gasping man, he reached for a lever and leaned the car seat backwards.

“go.” Was all Mr Selman could mutter, he knew he meant the boy he must have ran down.

Dave picked his phone and dialled emergency services as he ran forward to see a woman on the tarmac instead of a boy who was now staring dumbfounded at the scene. He ran over to her and turned her face up, there was a little cut just above her left ear where her head must have collided with concrete. She was still. He felt for her carotid pulse as her face swam to view. Dave had his own mild version of emotional heart attack as he finally saw who she was.

*******
It's been ages since my last update, I'd love to blame it on med school, a major writer's block, and some personal stuffs i'd rather not bother you with. All i'm saying is: I'm sorry. 🙏

I never stopped thinking of y'all. Love ya.❤️

Any opinon on Dave you'd like to share?