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ADVENTURES IN UNPAID INTERNING: The Genesis.

 



Salutations(Salutations? Really?) and Greetings from my end of the post-covid/ post-#ENDSARS saga. Are we all well? Did you loot enough palliative to detty yourself this December or are you one of those Twitter revolutionaries watching the sitcom that is our nation, Nigeria get sequels after sequels after sequels of pure comedy gold? You know, I found it humorous that the numerous looting, revolts, killings, and political contradictions happened on a month of supposed joy and solidarity in recognition of our 60 years freedom from...what exactly? Because when you look at how shit crazy the country has been over the past decades: with the corruption, fuel hikes, strikes, inflations, brutalities(physical and political), you'll come to realize that the only thing we're actually "free" from is white people(not just any white people, British people!) and... Oh shit! I'm digressing! No, No, No! I did not come back to the blogosphere to talk about my country again. I already did that on my last article(which not many people read. FUCK YOU ALL! I POURED OUT MY HEART AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS INTO THAT PIECE.) I came to talk about me. That's right; I'm getting selfish.

 

So hopefully by the time I finish writing, editing and reformatting my blog site, it would be a month since I started my job at a private hospital at Aba Road, Port Harcourt, so HAPPY BALLOONS TO ME! And as some of you must have already deduced(not like you had to channel your inner Benedict Cumberbatch, it was painstakingly evident in the title cards), I'm not getting paid. Like, at all. Not even tp money(because the distance from my house to the hospital is a bit far and with the ongoing bridge construction and road remodelling, transport is very pricy). Although, I do keep telling myself that it's not for the money I want to do this but for the knowledge and experience and the all-round satisfaction of seeing people get cut, stabbed and hearing the unrelenting cries of women going through contractions(plus the walks around the premises is good cardio and helps with my step counts...in yo faces Tracy, Tomiwa and Elliot) 


Honestly, how am I going to crunch in a whole month of experience into one blog post is beyond me. If only I had thought up the idea to chronicle my endeavours sooner, it wouldn't be so much of a hassle to tell my stories. So for starters, I'm going to break apart this first article into two parts. The first, which is this, would be a sort of introduction with me getting you up to speed as to the events that led me into the four walls of the two-storied structure that is Ponyx Hospitals Ltd(Google it), while the other would emphasize on certain historical events that I've witnessed during my unpaid working hours(Calm yourself Ebube, it's not about the money. It's not about the money)

So it all started one October evening. I had recently concluded an argument with my mother(which I lost because you know: "Mothers are always right") and got a call from my aunt who came up with the idea of me starting a kind internship program at a friend's privately owned clinic. Now, I wasn't opposed to the idea, seeing as I wanted to start something of the sorts when I came home in February(strike, pandemic, you know the gist). But due to the pandemic at the time, the lockdown, and the knowledge that my mother would personally drive me(no, she'd pay my transport instead)to an isolation centre if I so much as sneezed too much made me a bit reluctant. Plus, a friend got me a writing gig of which they'd pay me weekly from it. My only problem was how do I juggle both jobs at the same time?


After meeting with the hospital's matron(a surprisingly nice woman- A personality that goes against the nature of women who take on that role) and deciding on working the morning shifts, it seemed like I could do both tasks efficiently. I'd work at the hospital during the day, and upon closing and reaching the house, I'd work extensively into the night and finish like 2-3 articles and submit before the deadline. 


I broke down. Yeah, who knew working an eight-hour-shift with no chance of sleep and then coming home and forfeiting even more rest to meet up with deadlines would be so physically and mentally draining. Let's not forget to add the 10km runs I did every morning, and the time I decided to cover a whole 24hr shift to witness a delivery that was supposed to happen later that night(It occurred the next morning, instead). 


I'm all better now. The stress manifested itself in the form of malaria, which was a lot less problematic than the week I spent at home contemplating my death because I had lost my sense of smell and taste... It was not a fun experience. 


Like I said before, I'm going to chronicle my work experiences in the second part of this article. Hopefully from then on, I'd release like one article per week, to keep you abreast on the various happenings and my somewhat crazy opinions about the world of medical health care providing. So let's see where this new idea takes me, and hopefully, I may not have killed a patient by then(Hey! We all gotta go sometime. 


P. S. There's something about hospitals and employing big assed women... I'm just saying. 




Comments

  1. ONovember 15, 2020 at 1:42 AM

    Hey man, sorry about your health. And you just had to put that ending😂😂

    ReplyDelete
  2. EzekielNovember 16, 2020 at 4:32 AM

    That ending bro 😂😂😂

    ReplyDelete

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