The young lady took to Twitter to narrate the life-threatening ordeal she underwent from 2017 to 2019 under the hands ofdoctors and the failed medical practices and infrastructure inNigeria that almost took her life.
Here’s what she tweeted:
“It began during my NYSC year in 2017!!! In the fifth month of my service year, I got sick with very severe abdominal pain and had to visit the hospital. Scan results showed I had an inflamed appendix and had to operate.
Called my mom and she asked me to come back home (Cross River state) so we could do the surgery in the hospital where she was working. My mom’s a retired nurse. Her house was just 4 hours from my PPA (Gboko, Benue State), so it was easy to travel with the pain.
We saw a doctor at her workplace and I fixed a date for my Surgery. On the 30th of May 2017, I had the surgery and everything seemed fine. I sang that night with my cousins (I love Singing). I even walked, the next day, to my mother’s office to greet her colleagues. Everything was piggy until they asked me to drink water on the third day.
As I drank the water, I could feel it moving in my tummy, like through a pipe, to the OP site (i.e the place that was opened on the right side of my abdomen to take out the appendix sac). I told my mom but she thought I was probably just playing as usual (I play a lot).
And I just decided it was maybe all in my head or I was paying too much attention. The same thing happened when I took Lipton, Pap, and then very soft rice. But this time, the rice went straight to the OP site and formed a small ball. That was when the whole wahala started.
Everyone could see the ball, so it was clear I wasn’t playing. The doctors kept going back and forth with the issue,, not able to tell us exactly what the problem was. I stayed in the hospital for a week and by this time; the ball got bigger and I could barely keep food.
My mom being a nurse wanted to follow the entire procedure but when I had stayed there for two weeks and no one was saying anything tangible, she had to take me to another hospital. There, the doctor had to carry out an exploratory laparotomy (i.e., a surgery to find out what the problem was in my tummy).
It was then he saw my intestines had been punctured and sutured by the first doctor, hence the swelling and inability to keep food. Some parts of my intestines were already rotting. My mother saw all this in the theatre, so we knew it was accurate.
The doctor did his best to fix everything, but the damage had been done to my intestines already. So we waited for it to heal, but it did not heal. An abdominal obstruction had been caused, and it got worse. I threw up everything I ate including bile in my tummy.
After weeks of not knowing what else to do, I was discharged. It was terrible at home; I was dying. At this point, someone suggested the teaching hospital in makurdi and we went there. They were hesitant about going in for a third surgery, so they used conventional methods. A nasogastric tube, AKA NG tube was.
Put it in my nose. An NG tube is a long, thin silicone or rubber tube put in the nose or mouth to administer or remove substances in the tummy. In my case, it was to remove dirt from my tummy that was presumed to cause the obstruction. This dirt looked really nasty and the NG tube.
It was extremely uncomfortable. I could not eat for one week. My food was dextrose saline and other drips, on a steady. They passed a urinary catheter to my bladder through my vagina to pass out urine as I could barely move around. After a week, my tummy was no longer.
Bloated, and it decimated the pain. The NG tube and catheter were removed, and they asked me to eat. When I ate, there was no problem. I was fine and my mom was happy. After a few days, we got discharged, and I went back to my PPA to get my discharge letter.
I had lost so much weight and had to give my old clothes out. After a few days, the bloating resumed. The pain got worse. I complained every time I went for my checkup but my doctors said I was fine and that it was the healing process. After my POP, I went back home to Calabar and.
Life was a living hell, but my doctors kept saying “Healing process”. My tummy was like I was pregnant, I couldn’t eat properly, I couldn’t sleep properly. Fast forward to December 2018, my situation got worse, and I had to go back to the hospital.
This time, teaching hospital Calabar. Another round of catheters, NG tubes, and drips. I was told I’ll go in for a third surgery but they kept postponing due to light issues. That big hospital, it was embarrassing. On the day I was finally taken to the theatre, they took light.
Oya turn on the gen na, they said no diesel. My mother asked how much diesel would be enough for the surgery, they told her and she offered to buy it. Next thing, they said it wasn’t diesel again; the gen was bad and could not be fixed anytime soon. Are you people mad??? I’m dying FFS!!! My mom got angry,
Signed against medical advice and we left for a state hospital. Here, they were more organized and my doctor was lovely. He really did his best to make me better. We went in for a third surgery, then a fourth, then a fifth. Everyone was scared, and we had already.
Put millions into drugs and bills. After the fifth surgery, something happened, and I developed an abdominal fistula (This is when poo comes out of your tummy.) Poo came out of my scars and 13 other holes opened on their own because of inflammation and poo also came out of all 13.
Holes. The holes were busting out, and it caused me so much pain. This was when the horror started. I became a walking “Suckaway”. I stung like hell on the first day it started. I was sad, my mom was sad, my doctors were sad. I wanted to sink into the ground.
I wanted to cry my lungs out but I couldn’t cry; I had to be strong for my mom. She tried not to let me see it, but I could see how much she was hurting. She had also lost weight and was looking sick too. There was so much pain in her heart, so I had to be a big girl and I kept all the hurt cry my lungs out but I couldn’t cry, I had to be strong for my mom. She tried not to let me see it, but I could see how much she was hurting. She had also lost weight and was looking sick too. There was so much pain in her heart, so I had to be a big girl and I kept all the hurt.
Poo coming out of my tummy! The fistula went on for months and I asked to go home. After hesitating, my doctor let me go home and another round of hell began. On the 1st of March 2019, I went blind for hours. My eyes were open, but all I saw was black. I thought this was it.
I was going to lose my sight, and I thought, wetin concerned fistula with blindness. Mtcheeew. After convincing my mom to let me sleep, I did, she and my sister were praying to God to restore my sight. When I woke up, the first thing I saw was my 2 y/o niece staring at me,
“Aunty, grandma said you cannot see but you’re looking at me”, with her baby words. Lmaooooo. I see her small head “I can see you” and she’s shouting “Grandma, grandma. Aunty can see me”. Lol. Anyway, after weeks in my sister’s house, I got tired and wanted a change of environment.
So my brother drove to Calabar and took my mom and me to his place at Uyo. With the fistula, my family is the best. In Uyo, things worsened. We went to 3 more hospitals, Uyo teaching hospital gave us their own dose of rubbish too but I won’t get into it. Just know that my.
My brother nearly beat someone. We finally went to a private hospital after one night that I almost died. As the doctor looked at me like that, he was scared and tried to send us back home. But my mom was stubborn, so he took us in and we had to deposit almost a million before he did anything because he said what we were trying to remedy was risky and we needed a daily supply of cash and we couldn’t afford a break. By that time, I was already a walking corpse. Every time nurses started their shift, the first thing they asked each other was “Is she still.
alive?”. And my mom and I would smile. Eskiss me ma, I’m not gon die. 8 doctors attended me, Chemotherapy, EKG, etc. I had to scrape off my hair too afraid at some point, because it was pulling and littering.