Elsewhere in the city, at Grace Land Hospital, Dr Uremma Ndubuisi, a 29-year-old obstetrician-gynecologist standing 170 centimetres tall, walked briskly down the fourth-floor hallway, her white coat fluttering behind her like a cape. Her heart was as vast as the sky.
Everyone knew her name. Nurses smiled warmly when they saw her. Patients whispered blessings as she passed. To some, she was a doctor. To others, she was family.
She had just come from the maternity wing on the second floor, where she had performed a successful Caesarean section. A trace of exhaustion lingered in her eyes, but it didn't slow her pace.
Now on the fourth floor, she was heading to her office when the sound of laughter drifting from the paediatric ward—the children's ward—caught her attention. Smiling to herself, she changed direction.
'Story time!' a nurse called from inside the ward, already knowing what the detour meant.
The moment Uremma stepped into the ward, a dozen little faces lit up like fairy lights. She always came with a storybook tucked into her coat pocket and a song ready on her lips. Today, she pulled out The Little Butterfly Who Could and began reading in a sing-song voice that had the children giggling and leaning in close.
When she finished the story, she gave each child a gentle hug and promised to return with colouring books next time. She even wiped the tears off one little girl's cheek, whose parents hadn't been able to visit in days.
As she stepped out, she paused beside the nurses' station in the general care unit down the hallway.
'The woman in Bed 9,' she said softly, 'Cancel her surgery bill. Quietly. She doesn't need to know it's me.'
One of the nurses looked at her, touched. 'You've paid for five patients this week, Doc.'
Uremma smiled, brushing a stray curl from her face. 'Then let's make it six.'
Later, she dropped by the geriatric unit on the floor above, where she never passed by without chatting with the elderly men and women, often holding their hands as they shared old stories or worries about grandchildren they missed. She never rushed, never acted too busy, even though her schedule was always packed.
'Doctor Ure!' an old man called from his bed, squinting at her through his glasses. 'Where's my kiss today?'
She laughed, leaned in, and planted a kiss on his cheek. 'Behave yourself, Papa Bassey, or I'll tell your wife!'
He sat up a little, pretending to clutch his chest in shock. 'Tell my wife? Ah, Doctor Ure, now I'm in real trouble! She'll never believe I got kissed by the hospital angel herself!' He winked, then leaned back with a mischievous grin.
Uremma's eyes twinkled as she shook her head at his jokes, then she headed to her office to review charts for her next rounds.
***