Planet Scumm Issue 15 Full Story: "A Dose of Insight" by Chinaza Eziaghighala

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We’re pleased to offer you this full length story to get you excited for Issue 15 of Planet Scumm: “Arcana Major” which will go on sale April 26th, 2023. Enjoy.

**This story’s accompanying tarot card is the Two of Cups.**

**Card Associations:** The Two of Cups symbolizes unity in partnerships, the blending of two-into-one, and reciprocity. It signals balance and understanding.
**Words of Warning:** A lack of care and effort can be felt by those around you. Hardening yourself to the trials of others will ultimately hurt you as well.

Bode felt everything. He could feel his legs shattered in different places. He could not move his hands but could feel they were there. His breathing felt like that of a drowning man—suffocating. He felt a searing pain that started within his legs and ascended into his brain. There was a moistness in his trousers that felt like urine mixed with feces. He opened his mouth to scream, but it stayed shut—he could taste metal on his tongue. He willed himself to move, yet his body resisted. He could hear muffled screams as people gathered around his body.

They are standing too close, he thought.

He opened his eyes to see a man, dressed in briefs and a plain shirt, speaking into a phone, with a hand on his bloodstained forehead. He tried to speak to the man, but his senses dulled. His eyes opened and closed, each closing drawing him deeper and deeper into unconsciousness. The last thing he thought about was Esosa’s smiling face.

*****

The last thing Bode heard was the sound of the junior doctors' footsteps hurrying out of the call room, holding their noses—one of them stifling a giggle while avoiding eye contact. Bode sat on the bed, pressing his thighs together in a tight clasp, watching some people gathered at the Accident and Emergency car park from his call room window: an old man gasping mouthfuls of breath, in obvious respiratory distress, an old woman thrashing her hands about while crying beside a dazed young man, resting his jaw on his palm. His eyes met those of the young man’s and looked away, an insouciant glance. He sucked his teeth, because the call had been uneventful so far, and now here was work that would only further delay him. He had hoped that he could score a home run all the way to Esosa, now this.

Bode hated calls. He could care less. Besides, his shift was almost over and he had intentionally avoided attending to these people in order to hand them over to the morning team.

He glanced at the clock, and began gathering his things into his backpack, eager to leave before the end of his call time. From the call room entrance, Nurse Titi motioned to him to attend to the patient outside.

“Dr. Bode, emergency,” she said, hands akimbo in the corridor. She then walked back to the triage area. From the window, he watched as she walked to the people he had seen earlier. When he was sure that she was fully engaged, he grabbed his backpack and made his way to the back exit, to avoid the triage area and Titi’s glare.

As he made his way to the back exit, he put his hands in his pockets, not hearing the anticipated jangle of car keys. Bode turned back to the call room in search of them. He found them nestled in the crevices of his call room mattress and grabbed them when a notification popped up on his phone; five missed calls from Esosa.

He sent her a text: I will be there in an hour.

He remembered when Esosa had come the night before wearing those pink shorts that he liked so much: the ones that contrasted against her dark skin. She had come to deliver his food, sashaying her way into the call room despite knowing that family members were not allowed there, engaging Titi with her dull jokes as Titi escorted her out of the call room. He could have sworn he heard Titi laugh, a foreign sound that remained etched in his mind.

Walking out of the call room, he dialed the colleague who was to take over for him. If he had looked through the call room window, he would have noticed that she was no longer outside.

*****

Titi knew that the patient needed to be stabilized as soon as possible. This was why she went to get the oxygen tank herself instead of sending an attendant. Her stocky form pushed the cylinder in its trolly as she walked down the corridor, feigning fake smiles at passersby who greeted her. She had notified Dr. Bode since he was on call, even though she knew he could be indolent. He was short-tempered when overworked and even when the workload was lighter, he remained distant, his face in a ceaseless scowl that frightened everyone except her. The patient’s wife had said that he was suffering from chronic kidney disease and had not been dialysed for a month, because they could not afford it. When she assessed him, he was barely conscious, but for his labored breathing. She knew that admitting him would be futile because there was no bed space; she had sold the last one, which was in a private ward, herself, to one of the hospital’s affluent customers who had heart failure.

“Can you pay for bed space?” she asked. The patient’s wife had looked at her and gulped.

“How much?” the wife said.

“One hundred and fifty thousand naira.”

“We don’t have that kind of money,” the wife said, raising her hands over her head.

So, Titi went to the oxygen room behind the Accident and Emergency department to get oxygen to stabilize him outside. On her way back to the car park, she intercepted Dr. Bode carrying his backpack.

“Nurse Tay Tayyy… no vex.”

Nurse Titi said nothing, hissing and walking away, not expecting any less from him. This was why she preferred working with Dr. Frances instead; she was much nicer and had less air in her head. Bode, realizing the mess he must be in, bowed his head sheepishly and followed, like a young boy caught stealing money from his mother’s purse.

*****

At the car park, the old man was limp in the passenger's seat, his head resting on his chest, flanked by the old woman and young man Bode saw from the call room window.

“Doctor! My husband!” the old woman said between breaths, adjusting her wrapper around her waist. “He stopped talking... he was talking…”

“Madam, calm down.”

Dragging his feet, Bode walked over to the man, took out his pulse oximeter, placed it on his cold right thumb and waited. There was no pulse. He used his stethoscope to listen to his chest. Nothing.

“Madam, he is dead,” Bode said. “Why are we wasting time here?”

“I went to collect oxygen. Let’s try to resuscitate,” Titi said.

Bode, ignoring her, took the documentation paperwork, wrote down: BID—“brought in dead”—and handed her back the form. Hiding her disgust, she made her way back to the Accident and Emergency entrance.

The old woman looked at him as if he had just spoken some strange language. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sounds came at first, then tears followed. The young man looked stunned—he opened the car door and sat in the back seat. Bode glimpsed at his wristwatch and sighed, relieved he could get back to Esosa on time, and began walking away when a strong arm pulled him back.

“What do you mean by that? He was alive. We brought him in alive,” the young man said, holding him by the collar. “We have been waiting while you were wasting time inside. I saw you, bastard!”

“If you touch me again, I will woze you,” Bode said, pulling himself away from the young man as he raised his fists to his face and assumed a fighting stance. A trickle of doctors and nurses from inside the Accident and Emergency room watched from the windows.

“It will not be well with you.”

Bode followed the voice to the old woman. Her eyes had darkened and lips were drawn in a scowl.

“Ko ni dafun e,” she said. She began beating her chest in rhythm with her voice, repeating the same again and again in a murderous chant: It will not be well with you. Ko ni dafun e.

“Fuck off,” Bode said, backing away and feeling for keys in his pocket. He stumbled across the door of his Corolla, got in and drove, watching from his rearview mirror as Nurse Titi returned to the patient with a bag and mask.

*****

Bode cursed Google under his breath. He had followed the map against his better judgement and the map had been wrong in its estimation—the traffic from Lagos Island was worse on this route. He had left his car on for the air conditioner, but it barely diffused the thick heat.

Esosa had called repeatedly to check on him because he was running late. Tonight was their anniversary, and in typical Esosa fashion she was planning the whole thing. They were to go to a fancy restaurant at Ikeja, and she’d arrived at the venue in the morning. He told her he would be late and she had been understanding. During the call, he had savored the memory of the first bite of her food and remembered why he had married Esosa in the first place. She was just twenty years old—in her fourth year of medical school, while he was in his final year—when he asked her to go out to Freedom Park with him. He felt embarrassed about taking her there, but it was the only venue he could afford with its five-hundred-naira gate fee, and after hearing about her breakup he decided to seize his moment.

Sitting on a bench under the moonlit sky, they had talked about their plans for life after medical school; they were both going to the United Kingdom where he would be a respiratory physician, and she would be a dermatologist. When she had offered him the food in a flask, because “the food in Freedom Park was not worth all the money they would spend,” he knew she was the one. They were married now, still in Nigeria almost five years after that meeting.

The map indicated that he was an hour away but, looking out the car window and seeing the multiple brake lights, Bode was not so confident. When the person in front of him moved forward, he saw the diversion that led to the other side of the road, where an adjacent street could easily connect him to the restaurant. He veered, turning off his headlights, but leaving his hazard lights on in hopes that oncoming cars could see him. His mind went back to the old woman from earlier, and he suppressed a shiver that coursed through his body. He had never been one to fear people, but the woman had a certain unnerving quality about her.

A body panic hit him. As he struggled to breathe, feeling his hands becoming cold and clammy on the steering wheel, his eyes widened, and he saw large looming headlights as a truck swerved across his path.

*****

Bode was seated in the car’s passenger seat, flanked by a familiar old woman and young man. He looked down at hands that did not belong to him; then he looked at the side mirror to see a reflection of the old man, eyes staring back at him, mouth wide open as he touched his face—the reflection of the old man did the same in tandem.

He saw a flash of the old man’s memories: a gathering of people, clad in black robes, kneeling around a red altar. Among these people were the old woman and a well-built man dressed in crimson robes. The man walked to him, sprinkling white powder around him, forming a white circle of dust on the red altar.

“The only way this fit work is through Aye transplant,” the man said, his body seizing. “Find person wey deserve death so that you can deserve life.”

Bode.

Bode’s consciousness flitted in the old man’s head, searching for the voice’s origin. He looked back at the mirror to see the reflection, still like a mask. The old man’s lips moved without Bode’s control.

Rufus Adeyinka is my name. I be farmer inside Ogun state. I dey Lagos because of my sickness.

Bode’s consciousness screamed, but there was no sound; the body did not move according to his will any longer.

No need shout, no one can hear you. Only me.

Who are you? Bode screamed, raw panic in his voice, unsure if he was paralyzed by fear or something else.

Me and my wife dey ojuju cult. I’ve been don try to cure myself in hospital but no work. You people are wicked, anytime I come, I wait for hours before you see me, your drug is expensive and you no care.

Bode began to remember. Rufus and his wife had been to the hospital before. He had attended to him but he could not afford the dialysis. He and his wife had begged him to reconsider, but he could not take people’s personal problems on himself. He was not a messiah. So, he had told them to go to another hospital or come back when they could afford to pay. When Rufus had held the foot of his trousers, he had kicked his hands away.

Thank God say you remember, Rufus continued. Me and my wife go to our ojuju cult and they say we should find somebody wey we fit exchange my life with – they call am Aye transplant.

Bode’s thoughts were no longer his alone. He could feel Rufus’s consciousness mixing with his, assaulting his mind.

So na you we pick, because you wicked pass all the rest and nothing wey you fit do fit stop am, Rufus said, bursting into a cackling wave of hideous laughter that echoed in Bode’s consciousness as he watched Rufus’s reflection grin at him. Enjoy your feem.

Bode snapped out of the vile trance when the old woman shook him. Opening his lips, he called a name that was too familiar.

“Atinuke.”

Bode’s consciousness, shocked at the words leaving his mouth, watched as Atinuke moved closer to him, pressing her lips to his ears as Bode held his breath.

“The Baba said this will work, so do not worry.”

“Where is the doctor?” Rufus continued. The young man came to his side. Bode knew his name: it was Gbenga, the old man’s only son, whom he had late in life. Bode’s consciousness screamed, but the scream remained in the old man’s head; Rufus didn’t even acknowledge his existence. Atinuke held his hands and squeezed as the old man went limp. Bode’s consciousness could swear that he saw Atinuke smirk.

Bode’s consciousness watched everything unfold like a bad dream. He watched as his body, Dr. Bode, strode towards Rufus; how Atinuke got into her mourning wife character. As Bode walked over to him with his pulse oximeter, Bode’s consciousness screamed at him.

“Run!”

There was no sound.

Bode’s consciousness watched as Dr. Bode wrote in his documentation paper. Bode’s consciousness kept watching, helpless, as he handed the paper to Titi, as Dr. Bode and Gbenga almost got into a brawl, and, finally, as Atinuke cursed him with vitriol. There was nothing he could do. Bode’s consciousness began to feel an insidious pull.

*****

He woke up on the hospital bed to see Esosa seated on a stool, her head resting on what he could make out to be his thigh. She looked like she had not slept much, still wearing her dinner dress—a pink dress that shimmered against the fluorescent light. He had never seen this dress before. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it, afraid that he would sound unlike himself. Bode tried to turn his neck, but felt a collar fastened around it. His movements stirred Esosa, who awoke and screamed for a doctor.

Esosa adjusted his pillow and smiled at him. She wondered how she would break the news to him that the truck driver who had rescued him, although having good intentions, had dragged him by the neck and destabilized his spine, and that Bode may never walk again. After the truck driver had called her, she took him to his hospital where his colleagues came to his rescue.

They had reclined him on a hospital bed, taking turns to pound away at his chest. Nurse Titi was the first person to start compressions, while others gathered a defibrillator and a bag and mask. Each breath given after each compression seemed to suck the air out of the room as colleagues surrounded Bode, waiting for when Nurse Titi would tire so they could continue. They had resuscitated him for thirty minutes before getting a weak pulse, finally taking him to the intensive care unit where he could be monitored.

When the doctor on call, Dr. Frances, had checked his X-ray, she had said that he would need spinal surgery.

“The surgeon on call is willing to do it for him for free because he is a colleague,” she had said. Esosa was relieved because everyone in Bode’s hospital had taken his case like it was theirs; at least he had a fighting chance.

As she caressed his forehead, Bode wanted to speak, but felt tongue-tied. He attempted to move his limbs, but could not feel them. Red, orange, and yellow lights flitted before his eyes, settling on the lilac scrubs of the doctor examining him.

“We need to resuscitate him. Nurse! Bring a bag and mask!” she said, as she drew a curtain to shield him. “Please ma, I need you to step away from the bed.” Off Esosa’s horrified look, she said, “We will do our best, but God will do the rest.”

Esosa did not believe in a god. Bode had once told her that doctors said such things when they knew there was nothing that could be done. Her heart leaped into her throat.

Bode could feel his eyes closing. He could see the colors in the room change from green to blue and indigo as he felt the same pull from before.

“I want to sleep,” he muttered. Tears mixed with blood spilled down his cheeks as everything turned violet.

*****

Bode moved when his eyes fluttered open to see a white light. He reached for the light and followed it until it led him to teeth; they were Esosa’s teeth, but she was not smiling. He saw his limp body surrounded by Dr. Frances and other nurses taking turns giving him chest compressions. Titi restrained Esosa, who wrestled against her. There were tears in Titi’s eyes.

“No! Don’t leave me!” Esosa screamed, clawing at Bode’s body like a feral cat.

He was in a white open space surrounding a central dark zone that swirled in violet and black colors. He watched Esosa through a portal that swished like an interdimensional window.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he said, but she could not hear.

“Time have reach.”

Rufus’s voice could not be mistaken. He looked more vibrant than Bode remembered. An ache welled in Bode’s chest, and he looked back at Esosa’s face one last time as Rufus pushed him into the dark swirling void of nothingness.

*****

Rufus opened his eyes to see Nurse Titi using a bag and mask to resuscitate him. He sprang up from his supine position and she backed away as Atinuke glided to him, her hands trembling as she touched his face.

“Oko mi,” she said.

Rufus looked at her and smiled, flexing his fingers, feeling the new vibrance of youth flowing through his veins like an infusion. “It is me.”

If you liked this story and want to read more (or if you want to own this story in glorious paperback form) you can order Planet Scumm Issue 15: “Arcana Major” below.