Hemorrhagic Stroke (3)

Old Flame never came back, but Wofaase from Takoradi was now in the ward every day.

And every night, especially if I left late, I recognised his chosen sleeping place in the lobby.

One morning, just before the round, he came running to me. 

I had gotten used to his usual “Good morning”, but it seemed like he had more to say this time.

He had found a group of Mr K’s friends in Cologne who were gathering money to fly him back and they wanted to have a chat with the doctor in charge of his care.  

The storm

I got into a WhatsApp chat with Mr K’s friends that afternoon, during which I briefed them fully.

They had a lot of questions and I did my best to answer.

At the end of the chat, we had a plan. 

They were going to pay an airline for an air ambulance, and they asked if I could accompany them for the flight.

I agreed, as long as they would ensure that Mr K was well taken care of and not exposed to increased risk during the flight.

At this time, Mr K was still bedbound, and all physiotherapy was happening passively in bed, but he did obey simple instructions and could move about spontaneously in bed.

Any transfer by air had to be tightly supervised because the changes in the aircraft cabin pressure are unpredictable during flight.  

The friends seemed serious, because very soon, my WhatsApp was pinging with PDF copies of letters of invitation, hospital referral confirmations from Cologne, requests for flight ticket invoices, the works.

The messages kept coming.

They obviously wanted their friend back soon, so I cooperated and helped as much as I could.

Soon, we had the invoice for the airline and proposed bookings, and then the administration had put the letters together for the application. 

After a few days passed with no positive results from the embassy every time the admin staff went, I went there myself.

I got in the queue with my documents and met the consular officer.

He asked me a few questions, approved the visa and then told the cashier to return my visa fees.

Then he wished me all the best.  

I alerted the group in Koln (now I know the correct spelling) that I had gotten the visa.

The chat group was happy, but the leader had a special request. He wanted to see a photograph of the visa.

I gave him the date, visa number, duration, everything.

This guy said he still wanted to see a photograph.

I knew it had my photograph, and I was not sure if there was any biometric information that could be scanned with the right equipment.

I was not going to put it on someone’s WhatsApp.

This guy did not understand, and just like that, he discontinued communication.

The chat group went quiet, as one by one, members of the Koln consortium exited. My wife could not believe her eyes, her ears.

And so it was, for a few weeks, until Wofaase Showboy came to me again with another WhatsApp contact, JP, who was the one Mr K had left his apartment keys with. JP reached out to me with a proposal. He knew what had happened with the Consortium and had found a Ghanaian Travel Agent based in Germany who was willing to arrange the transfer.

I spoke to him. He sounded like confidence vocalised. He was going to get business class seats, so that Mr K could lie flat for take-off and landing.

He got me to agree, after wondering aloud why the doctor would also need a business class seat next to the client.

The travel agent moved faster than the Consortium. 

The next day, PDF tickets pinged on my phone, but they were not business class.

I called Agent Confidence, and he had a quick answer: they were Comfort Plus Seats that he had arranged at the Airline HQ himself.

He was lying… 

Turbulence

Agent Confidence insisted that the seats had been fully arranged at the HQ and assured me I had nothing to fear.

When I asked him about my hotel details, he chided me.

He said he had been doing this business for a long time, and that he had a beautiful apartment waiting, along with a packaged tourist experience.

He had one favour to ask:  that I stay two extra days, instead of returning the next day, because the price of the overnight return was very high.

It has been some three years since this series of events happened. Now I look back and wonder what I was thinking.

I suspect that the clinical load of work at the time, along with a driving desire to be rid of the calls that kept coming from admin, blinded me to glaring red flags.  

The days passed quickly, and I was doing full days at work as all this was going on.

We agreed on the departure dates, and suddenly here I was being driven to the airport by my wife on the day.

I had been at work in the morning, done a half day, and then gotten back home to grab a suitcase.

I knew Mr K was on the way to the airport by ambulance.

The nurse on board with him had given me all the real-time updates.

It occurred to me, as my wife drove, to check the seating arrangements on the flight.

I had the number of the manager on duty for the airline and I called.  

I was in for my first shock of the day: Mr K and I had been assigned economy seats, and there was no mention of any medical aid needed during the flight for him.

I called Agent Confidence urgently. He seemed as surprised as I am… he railed on and on about how let down he was.

He claimed he was going to check, and if it did not work out, he would need to cancel the flight.  

When we got to the airport, I almost asked my wife to take the suitcase back home, so I could just let the ambulance take Mr K back.

I stood vacillating a while, and then just grabbed it with me, walking into Kotoka Departure Hall.

It was already dark outside, and the Hall was packed with travellers.

Just opposite the check-in desk was Mr K in a wheelchair, slouching in a red checkered shirt the nurses must have found in his suitcase.

He was surrounded by a full medical delegation of nurses, along with Wofaase Showboy and a lady who was definitely not Old Flame.

I told the Night Superintendent for check-in that  I was cancelling the flight and that we did not get the seats we had been promised.

I could see the expressions of the medical delegation begin to sour. I realised then how everyone wanted the long stay in the ward to end for Mr K. He sat quietly.

This was his first time in a wheelchair for longer than 10 minutes these past 6 months, and I had to say he was looking stronger than I thought he had been.  

The Check In Superintendent called me aside and said to me that he had a proposition.

He had watched Mr K for a while and thought that he could go in the Economy seat, as long as he could call ahead for wheelchair assistance at the transit airport.

If I gave him the go-ahead, he could arrange for wheelchair assistance all the way to Koln.

I took a look at Mr K, and his Wofaase, and the medical team, and decided after a short prayer.

I would go with Mr K. The Superintendent triggered the process, and then we were on our way for the first leg of the flight.

I was handed all his documents, and we passed through Customs to the Gate.  

When we boarded, the assistants settled him by my side, and he was still holding up okay enough for us to get his seatbelt on.

At this time, all the nightmare scenarios were now beginning to play in my head, but it was too late to turn back.

When the flight took off, I thought I should get a sense of how oriented he was.

 I asked Mr K where we were going.

He confidently answered - Accra.

At this point, I realised this was going to be a long flight.  

I started praying.

The writer is a Neurosurgeon