The lady moved with a lithe grace, she was a beauty to behold as she sat down in the waiting room. I couldn’t help but notice her through the half opened door of the consulting room. She looked so graceful and out of place sitting there between other patients that clearly looked sick and didn’t care about their appearance as she obviously did hers. Her long hair was tied in a simple bun, the simplicity of which could not be achieved by simply tying one’s hair in a bun, this was an art form.

She wore no make- up, she didn’t need to; any make-up would have marred her beauty and tainted her flawless fair skin, she wore a simple grey and black button down gown that hugged her figure making her look as if she just stepped out of a fashion runway. Her slender feet were ensconced in a pair of black leather soft soled shoes. All these I noticed in that split second I looked through the door.

There were some more serious cases I had to attend to before her; a diabetic with a low blood sugar who had been having episodes of trembling and dizziness and a lady with peptic ulcer who had been vomiting. All through seeing these patients I kept wondering what this lady was here for and if she would be there when I returned.

Thankfully she was. I ushered her into the consulting room and asked her to sit down.
‘Are you Dr OKoli?’ She asked, her voice betraying a hint of a British accent.
‘Yes, I am…’ I replied.
Before I could say anything more, my hands were held in a vice like grip, her slim build belying incredible strength. She was too strong! I felt like I was being held by a crane. Her nails dug into the soft skin of my wrist as she restrained all 90kg of me. I tried to scream but I was already powerless. I don’t know what happened next as I felt the room getting darker.

I woke up to find myself in a ward lying down; confused I tried to move my arms but couldn’t, I tried my feet, same thing. That was when I managed to look down and saw the improvised bandages that had been used to tie me to the bed. What was going on? Where was I and where was the patient I had been seeing?

Just then a nurse walked in.
‘Matron what am I doing here?’ I bellowed.
She turned to me and smiled.
‘Mr Okoli….’
I stopped her. ‘I am Dr Okoli!’
‘Sorry, Dr…. Okoli.’ She drew out the words with a lot of reluctance.
‘Yes. What am I doing here?’ I asked once again.
‘Mr …I mean …Dr Okoli, the doctor will be here in the next one hour; then you can ask him all the questions you like. For now, take these tablets, they will help you feel relaxed.’
She shoved a green and a white tablet in my face.

Reluctantly I swallowed the tablets she had placed under my tongue.
Suddenly I felt a wave of peace flowing through me, I smiled.

The nurse turned to leave, carrying her tray with her.
I smiled at her retreating figure as she shut the door behind her.
I was feeling very sleepy.
As I slept, I kept wondering why the inscription on the door clearly stated ‘MALE PSYCHIATRIC WARD'.



  1. Ah-Ha! Might this matron be Matron Ibrahim who gave Dr Agbo a hard time? Perhaps Dr Okoli has (innocently) earned her wrath and locking him up in the psyche ward is her idea of justice? I am certain he is not deluded...
    Kind regards
    Anna :o]

    1. Thanks Anna, you just gave me an idea!

    2. Thanks Anna, you just gave me an idea!


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