I watched as their caskets were slowly lowered into the ground. The weather seemed to have acquired sentience as it was gloomy and the rain was trickling, a weather condition befitting of a sad ceremony.
Despite the weather, it was a huge attendance. The type you’ll only see when a prominent leader dies. Everyone I observed seemed to be genuinely sad.
Dr Chad was the Chief Physician at Belmount Hospital, he was also known as “The Saint of Moribund Street”.
He acquired that title after he saved a little girl in a fire accident. The firefighters were still en route and seeing that the little girl might as well be burnt to cinders before they could arrive, he had rushed into the flaming house and rescued her. His arm was burnt though not badly but the little girl whom he had encompassed in his bosom was safe and sound.
Dr Chad was a gentle and quiet doctor in his early sixties, despite being the best in the city and having lots of awards he remained humble.
Even though I admired him so much I didn’t know him personally, our relationship was based on professionalism.
Dr Chad, though he was loved by all, had few friends. He treated all equally but he was not social enough to build nor maintain a lot of personal relationships.
As the senior resident doctor, I was assigned to the medical team set up to operate on Mr Gilbert. Dr Chad as the Senior Physician was standing by to supervise the whole process. I wasn’t doing much, I was mainly observing and learning whilst stealing occasional glances at Doctor Chad.
During one of my glances, I think I saw, no, I knew I saw a look of sadness on his face, but it was quickly replaced by his calm countenance. I didn’t think too much into it. Halfway into the surgery, Dr Chad excused himself and left the surgery room.
We were too occupied with the task at hand to care about his overdue disappearance. When the patient’s condition had been stabilized the Operating doctor asked me to go look for the doctor.
The first place I went was his office and there I found him sitting on his chair, his head was drooped, while his arms dangled from the sides of his chair. I was shocked, I immediately ran to get help.
When all was done, it was determined that he had died from a cardiac arrest and had been dead for at least 2 hours before I found him. I recalled the troubled look I saw on his face during the surgery.
After a series of investigations, we learnt that his wife who had been sick had passed away an hour before the surgery and that some few minutes before we entered the Operating room, he was informed of this sad news via a phone call but he suppressed his grief just so as not to disrupt the upcoming surgery.
Right before he left the operating room he must have been in pain but in a bid not to cause alarm and put the patient’s life at risk he had left under the guise of wanting to check something.
A voice shook me out of my reverie, it was Kate, a junior resident doctor. After we exchanged pleasantries I looked back at the graves, it was almost filled up.
I consoled myself with the thought that he was going to walk down the path of eternity, hand in hand, with his wife.
Good people seldom live long. One thing I knew was that the hospital and people at Moribund street would never be the same with his absence.