I saw a patientโs relative at the car park today while I was pulling in.
Apparently, his sister wanted to use the restroom, and he said:
โBisi, better hold it till you get home. I know this useless hospital will never have water.โ
My skin crawled immediately.
Instinctively, I wanted to defend my institution.
So I challenged him.
โExcuse me, I hope youโre not referring to my hospital?โ
He looked at me calmly and replied:
โRespectfully, maโamโฆ I am.โ
What he said next humbled me. He had been through so much.
As doctors, we often have explanations for why things happen.
Why there was no bed space.
Why investigations were delayed.
Why a procedure could not happen immediately.
Why the system failed in one way or another.
And medically speaking, many of those explanations are valid.
But standing there today, I realised something uncomfortable:
A valid explanation does not always make the pain disappear.
This man had spent months moving in and out of that hospital with two relatives.
One of them eventually died.
At that moment, he was not speaking as someone analysing policy, staffing shortages, logistics, or infrastructure.
He was speaking as someone who was exhausted.
Frustrated.
Grieving.
And for the first time in that conversation, I did not feel the urge to defend anything.
I simply looked at him and said:
โIโm sorry for your loss.โ
And truly, I am, because today, I understood what people say when they make the statement:
"May Nigeria never happen to you"
NB: Bisi is not the sister's name.