Sometimes in 2018 while I observed the compulsory national youth service corps (NYSC) in faraway Kebbi State, about 12 hours drive by road from my place of destination. Of course, it was a strange land, and I was the stranger. I got to work and did the usual ward rounds and began my clinic. We were two resident doctors and had another two visiting doctors who only ran clinics during the day. A nurse walked up to me and asked me to help them establish intravenous access by inserting a cannula into an elderly patient's hand. This got me a little concerned as it was unusual of nurses in the hospital and even North not to be able to establish intravenous access, especially to an elderly man.
The patient was an elderly man in his late sixties, and merely walking up to him, I felt an unusual wave, which I quickly discarded. About three agile men pinned him to the bed, and together with a male nurse that followed me, the man was fixed for me to secure the intravenous access. My first entry seemed as if it was not in the vein, but I was sure the cannula was in, and with a simple manipulation, I was assured that the intravenous access was secured. Of course, I felt on top of the world, and just as I was about to walk away, I was called back to give the same elderly man an intramuscular injection. This I grudgingly did, murmuring that I had done the more difficult part.
It was just at the time of giving him the intramuscular injection that I noticed an old and rickety bead around the old man's waist. I was alarmed in my spirit but went ahead to give the injection. For every medical team, the doctor remains the team head and should take the lead. Immediately I left the man, and while still in the ward, I began to openly speak out my discomfort about the man and even advised my staff to pray. I said it more like a joke and went about my usual assignment at the hospital.
After the close of work in the afternoon, the incident with the elderly man kept ringing in my head. My workplace was about ten minutes drive from the capital city, and even while discussing with some of my staff who followed me to town, the old man's incident dominated the conversation. I dropped other passengers off and headed home. There was a usual path I take while going home, but instantaneously, I changed route and used another. The alternative route had less traffic and was in between communities yet not often crowded.
Then, a thought rang in my head, "How do people survive in an accident?" which I quickly shrugged off. Another thought immediately crawled into my subconscious, and this time around, it was, "What if you have an accident?" I became scared immediately and reduced my press on the accelerator pedal, almost driving at 40 km/hour. It was less than thirty seconds when I heard a bang, and immediately, I hit the brakes to a stop. I saw people coming towards me, and I came down immediately. There, I had hit a little boy aged about six years. His mother stood on the other side of the road and rushed to the scene. I picked up the boy and examined him for injuries or fractures, but thankfully, he was unscathed. My erratic heartbeat gradually normalized as I handed over the boy to his mother. Many thoughts flashed through my head (especially the elderly patient with the old beads), and, carefully, I drove home and went on my knees, appreciating God for saving me. I called my mom immediately and narrated the ordeal to her. We prayed together and afterwards felt some peace. It was a miracle I could not hold back, as the following Sunday, I was on the pulpit in church, sharing the miraculous testimony.
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