ALESSANDRO
"Good job, you are here." Said David as I walked into the room reserved for doctors about to surge into action. There were a couple of other doctors in the room, about eighteen of them who were specialists in other medical and surgical fields.
"The schedule for today is funny," he passed the paper in his hand to me, "A thousand surgeries scheduled for today."
I scoffed, that was funny. It's synonymous with functioning as a medic on a battlefront, saving soldiers who were hit by bullets and shrapnel.
"A thousand and we are just a team of very few doctors." I returned the paper to him, "We will do our best, but I pray we don't meet serious surgeries that would consume the whole time we have for the rest."
"None of them will take as much time as that." A doctor said behind us.
We spurned to meet him; the doctors had been avoiding us in ways we could tell were quite visible but senseless. Most of them were French speakers who couldn't communicate in English, I guess.
"My name is Doctor Musa," he gave us a hand we accepted in a very heartfelt manner, "I am the director of the medical and surgical affairs here."
I raised a brow, that's a wonderful office, he was for sure not among the doctors who came with the charity organization. He was from the local community clinic.
"I was posted a couple of weeks ago, so, I should assure you that I have nurses who would help with the business of stitching cuts after each operation, and by the way, your charity team brought a lot of professional male and female nurses, so, I don't see any reason why you should waste time on one patient when the rest are waiting in the queue." He lowered the hand he had offered us.
"I'm aware of the nurses, but this is just our way of chatting before we set into the business of doing what we do best," I said with a smile.
The doctor nodded. "Very good, and, the patients you have here have been diagnosed earlier, so, for each patient, his medical report would be passed to you as soon as they set into your ward for a brief attention, and then, the real big job."
That was good enough. I wouldn't waste time running diagnosis, but as for David who would run some of such before drilling anyone's skull, I knew those words weren't for him.
"So, is there anything you would like to have, maybe medications you wish to take before you set into business?" he asked.
I looked at David, the doctor knew well enough about surgeons, some of us take, not medications, but drugs like marijuana before sitting in the operating room because we couldn't see the whole mess and stand with our normal eyes and minds, they need aid.
"I don't need any," I responded.
"And you?" he turned to David.
"I was waiting to tell you that I won't work with the diagnosis of Musa and his team." David came a bit rude. "I will run diagnosis for just five persons, and start surgeries by evening time, if there should be any."
The doctor chuckled. He wouldn't succumb, I guess because most African doctors these days didn't bow when its claimed American doctors know better, and it's a big proof these days because most European states like the United Kingdom crave hard for doctors who are schooled and trained in Africa.
"I don't do best with argument, but before you came here, white man, our team of neurosurgeons from our own country, and a few from Nigeria had done a couple of brain surgeries, and even separated conjoined persons, so, you have to roll with our diagnosis so the job would be a lot easier." The doctor snarled.
I glanced at David, he wasn't satisfied with the response, but I didn't feel sorry for him, because he started it by speaking to Musa like he was less a doctor.
"Look, mister director, I don't just barge into the operation room with the diagnosis of another doctor, be him Nigerian or Ivorian, or even American and Indian, I do my job perfectly when I run the diagnosis myself." David stood his ground.
I liked to see him that way. He had zero record of screwing with work, all his patients come out alive and healed. I swung to his side, I wouldn't rerun the diagnosis for bone injuries and fractures, I'll follow their diagnosis, but as for David, he should do what he deemed right for himself.
"I've heard you, David Freeman," said the doctor, "We are not here to disagree with each other. We are here to work hand in hand. You will be assigned a team of two doctors and five nurses; other professionals will be involved in serious cases."
David smiled and held out a hand for him. "Now you speak like a man."
He shook David's hand. "Thanks for acknowledging the good job."
David laughed and withdrew his hand. Musa turned to me.
"You are a lot simpler than your American friend; I've never seen an Italian who is nicer than this." He held out his hand to me.
I accepted the offer, but I held on so he wouldn't slip off until I was done making myself clear in the way I deemed ethical.
"I am Italian-American, not just Italian, and Italian doctors are as nice as the French and the Americans, and Nigerians and Ivorians you know." I broke the handshake.
He smiled and returned his hand to his pockets, maybe to keep it from being snatched and held for a while by me just to tell him Italians are nice.
"I'll invite you to the doctors' mess for an argument on how rascal Italians can be, dear brother of Mussolini and his fascists." He laughed.
I smiled. "Okay, dear brother of Amin Dada, I won't turn down the offer."
"And," he leaned in, "It's a mess, like the officers' mess in the military barracks, you can come with whatever woman you are in for."
"Woman?" David snatched the conversation, "You know there won't be any time for that."
"I wasn't talking to you, my friend, but you will be invited as well, during the long weekend." He walked away.
***