Chance Encounter – Lasting Memories

My second son was born in 1976 in Nigeria. At that time, I was a senior lecturer of civil engineering at Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. My son was only two weeks old when he contacted some kind of infection with the result that his one thigh, one hand and a couple of fingers of that hand, eyelids and some other parts of his body had severely swollen. He was hurting so much that he wouldn’t sleep at night and kept crying. We took him to the hospital where they did several tests on him including a test for malaria. Malaria was very common in Nigeria and could be fatal for the babies and young children. The tests ruled out malaria. We were advised to take the baby to the university clinic and told expressly to inform the doctor not to give malaria medication. The Indian doctor at the clinic probably did not listen to what we had told him because he gave nivaquine without informing us. The doctors in Nigeria could get away with murder.

In the evening next day when my wife poured the medicine in a spoon, she said it smelled like nivaquine. I got angry with her for unnecessarily suspecting the doctor’s competence but to our surprise, nivaquine it was.

Immediately, we took the baby to the hospital. My first son was only six years old at that time. We took him to one of our friend’s house who lived in a flat at the campus near the hospital and left him with them (Dr. Farooq Chaudhry and his wife; Farooq was a lecturer in the Law Department). The waiting time at the hospital could be quite long and we didn’t want our older son to be unnecessarily inconvenienced.

After the hospital visit, we returned to pick up our son from Farooq’s flat; he lived on the third floor. We stayed with them for a cup of tea. During our conversation, Farooq mentioned that there was an Indian Pediatrician living on the second floor and asked us to consult her also. I was a little diffident because I thought she might not like us barging on her without appointment. Farooq said, “No, no, she is quite friendly; I’m sure she will not mind it. In fact, she will be happy to help if she can.” Farooq insisted that we went to her right then. I didn’t take the baby with me thinking I should first ask her if she would see him at her home.

The moment Farooq rang the bell; she opened the door as if she was waiting for us. Farooq explained the purpose of the visit. She said addressing me, “Yeah, I saw you going upstairs. I knew you were going to Dr. Chaudhry’s flat. I sensed that it was not a normal social call; there was some problem with your baby. Why didn’t you bring him?” So I went upstairs and returned with the baby. She took a look at him, then examined him more carefully, and said, “I am not quite sure but I suspect it is septicemia. Septicemia is blood poisoning. It is rare, may be one in a million. The superficial signs point in that direction. Bring the baby to the hospital tomorrow.” Then she asked what the doctor at the hospital said.

I said, “He has prescribed a medicine which I couldn’t get from the dispensary.”

“Let us go to the dispensary now and check; sometime they don’t look carefully and tell the patient that they don’t have the medicine,” she said.

She went with us to the dispensary but the medicine was not there. That is another long story.

Next day we went to her at the hospital. She had already arranged for a second opinion. A British orthopedic specialist, 60-70 years old, was at hand who examined my son, tapped his kneecap and some other bones and said none of them was infected. The puss needed to be drained out as soon as possible, he said.

There was an Indian Surgeon, Dr. Garg, at the hospital and the lady doctor (let us call her Dr. S. One name I should never have forgotten, I can’t remember now. This is the irony of my life.) decided to contact him right away. She went to see him at his office but returned rather quickly to inform that he was in a meeting. She had sent a message to him that there was an emergency situation and she needed his help promptly. After about twenty minutes when Dr. Garg didn’t show up, she went into the meeting room and pulled him out. He came and picked up the baby to examine. My son urinated on him, which caused a great deal of embarrassment to us but Garg laughed it off. “It is part of our professional life,” he said. He asked S what she thought. She said the puss needed to be drained out immediately before it infected any bone. And that was why she needed him.

The operation room was prepared and Dr. Garg operated within an hour. He gave two incisions, one on the thigh and the other on one finger. He said he wouldn’t touch the eyelid – just then – because the baby was too young. He said the baby would be kept in the hospital ward for at least twenty-four hours under observation. The mother could stay with the baby if she wanted. My wife said there was no other option; she would stay with the baby. We went to the children ward and when I saw it, my heart sank. The ward was overcrowded and quite chaotic. My wife sensed what was going through my mind and she told me to go home to fetch a mattress, which she would put on the floor and sleep on it. I knew my wife was very exhausted because she hadn’t slept for several nights but if that was the only available option, we had to perforce resign to that.

On my return, I saw Dr. Garg conversing with my wife. He said to me, “Dr. Gill, take the baby home; he would be better off at home than in the ward. It’s important for the mother to stay healthy so that she takes care of the baby properly. She needs rest. But if the baby gets fever in the night, please bring him over to the hospital immediately. Wake me up even if it’s two “o” clock in the night.” Thank God, everything went well. My son slept in peace after several nights and so did we. Next morning was a weekend and Dr. Garg came to our home to check on the baby’s condition. It was indeed nice of him.

A couple of days later, I had the occasion to go into the office of my head of the department, Professor Oleskiewicz, for something. As I entered his office, I saw S sitting in there. Prof. O(leskiewicz) started to introduce me to her when she said, “Oh, I know Dr. Gill.” The introduction was skipped. Prof. O informed me that Dr. K.L. Rao was coming to Zaria to visit his daughter, Dr. S, and he wanted to give a seminar on the management of India’s water resources or some such topic, to the Engineering Faculty. He asked me to schedule the seminar and make necessary arrangements. I said, “Okay.”

Then I turned to S and asked her if Dr. Rao was her father, which was a silly question because I had already been told so. She responded, “Yes. Do you know him?” I said, “No, not in person. I have never met him. But I know he is a civil engineer. He wrote a textbook on ‘Reinforced Concrete’, which I had used as a study guide when I was student. The book is very well written and was one of the very few good ones on the subject.” I had gathered information that he taught in England when he wrote the book. And I also knew that he was federal minister of irrigation of the government of India.

She informed me that Dr.Rao was in South America where he had gone to attend some international conference and on his way back, he would stop in Zaria to visit her. The seminar was scheduled and given; it went very well. A couple of days later I invited them for tea at my home, which they graciously accepted. I invited some 30-40 other colleagues and friends and the party became a cosmopolitan tea cum cocktail party. There were Nigerians, Indians, Pakistanis, Europeans, Americans, etc. at the party and every one seemed to be having good time. In compliance with my chores as a host, I moved over to where Dr. Rao was standing with his daughter. I asked him if he needed anything, a drink, a snack or whatever.

He said, “No, thanks, I am ok.” I noticed that he was not eating or drinking anything. His daughter said, “Dr. Gill, don’t worry about him. You go and attend to your other guests. I will take care of him. I’ll give him a glass of milk; that’s all that he needs.’

Dr. Rao however did ask me if I could take him to Zaria Water Treatment Plant next day because he wanted to see it. I took him to the plant, which was located on the bank of Zaria River, several miles out of the city. The plant was new and a state of the art showpiece. He was impressed.

One thing that struck me about Dr. Rao and his daughter was that they were simple folks and totally unassuming. He didn’t have any complex about him being a minister of the Indian government. Likewise, she never let it out in any social conversation that her father was a minister. She was just a plain woman in her mid-thirties; she was a kind of person whom people could easily ignore. But they were very nice people.

I don’t know if Dr. Rao is still alive, probably not, because he was quite old when I met him. I don’t know, where Dr. S is now but wherever she is, I wish her well. She saved the life of my son.