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💔 Sometimes is not the sickness
It’s ignorance
Don’ scroll, read this true life story.

One night while on duty at the village primary health care center where I work, something unforgettable happened.

At about 3 a.m., some parents rushed in with their sick child. I opened a file and began taking the child's history. But the father interrupted me, asking,
“Why are you asking questions? Aren’t you supposed to run tests?”

I calmly explained that history-taking is part of diagnosis, and tests are mainly for confirmation.

As I examined the child, I noticed:

A very high temperature: 40.1°C

The child was weak, very pale, and

Had a fresh wound on the stomach — a tattoo mark done by a traditional healer to “treat” something they called ‘Amafo’

I did tepid sponging to help bring down the fever, then ran RDT and Widal tests. The child tested positive for malaria.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t start malaria treatment immediately because:

The child hadn’t eaten all day

The child had been vomiting repeatedly, and the parents couldn’t even count how many times

So I started ORS: 15ml every 15 minutes for one hour.
I then gave Vitamin B complex syrup and Promethazine syrup, and asked the parents to feed the child. They did.

After feeding, I administered other medications. I told the parents to stay till dawn so I could send the blood sample I collected for an FBC test to check the PCV and WBC. This would help us know if the child needed to be referred to a secondary hospital.

But they insisted on going home, saying the child was feeling better and they’d return by dawn. So I gave them the sample and told them to do the test and come back not later than 7 a.m.

At dawn, my matron came in. She had a training that morning, but I told her about the child and asked her to wait a little, just in case the PCV was low. If we needed to refer, she could help transport them to town. She agreed and waited until 12 p.m., but the family never showed up.

We called the number on their file many times, but it didn’t connect. Eventually, we gave up.

I went on with my day, assuming that maybe they had taken the result to another hospital or maybe the test came out okay.

But around 3 p.m., the father returned alone.

I asked what happened. He said the test result showed PCV was 8%. But instead of returning to us, they went to a chemist, who said she could transfuse blood from him directly into the child.

I was shocked.

I asked if he knew his blood group and he said no, then asked if they did test for blood grouping, rhesus compatibility, or cross-matching. He said no that they didn’t do any of that. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Then he told me that after the chemist withdrew his blood, she refused to transfuse it unless they paid ₦50,000. So they came back to ask if I could help transfuse the blood for a cheaper price.

My head was spinning.

I told him I couldn’t do that. It’s dangerous, illegal, and I could lose my license. I explained that even though he was the child’s father, blood still needs to be tested—incompatibility could kill the child.

He insisted that they’d take responsibility for whatever happened. I replied:
“Even if you carry the risk on your head, I’ll still carry the punishment.”

I tried my best to counsel and convince him to take the child to a proper hospital to see a pediatrician. After some time, he agreed and left.

A few days later, I heard the child died.

---

🗣️ Dear friends, if you are educated, please go home and educate your people.

We are trying our best at these rural health centers, but it’s heartbreaking to see our efforts wasted because of quackery, ignorance, and dangerous traditional practices.

Let’s stop losing our children to things that are preventable.

Say NO to quackery.
Say NO to harmful traditional medicine.
Say YES to proper healthcare.
Let’s stop these preventable deaths.