Subject:
EBOLA SURVIVOR, ADA IGONOH OF FIRST CONSULTANT HOSPITAL NARRATES HER ORDEAL AND
MIRACULOUS SURVIVAL
EBOLA SURVIVOR, ADA IGONOH OF FIRST CONSULTANT HOSPITAL NARRATES
HER ORDEAL AND MIRACULOUS SURVIVAL
Dr.
Ada Igonoh of First Consultants Hospital, one of the doctors who attended to
the late Patrick Sawyer who brought Ebola into the Nigeria, has finally spoken.
In her inspiring piece sent to Bellanaija, the doctor, in a well detailed narrative,
disclosed how she got infected with the virus but miraculously survived it.
On the night of Sunday July 20, 2014, Patrick Sawyer was wheeled into the
Emergency Room at First Consultants Medical Centre, Obalende, Lagos, with
complaints of fever and body weakness.
The male doctor on call admitted him as a case of malaria and took a full
history. Knowing that Mr Sawyer had recently arrived from Liberia, the doctor
asked if he had been in contact with an Ebola patient in the last couple of
weeks, and Mr. Sawyer denied any such contact. He also denied attending any
funeral ceremony recently. Blood samples were taken for full blood count,
malaria parasites, liver function test and other baseline investigations. He
was admitted into a private room and started on antimalarial drugs and
analgesics. That night, the full blood count result came back as normal and not
indicative of infection.
The following day however, his condition worsened. He barely ate any of his
meals. His liver function test result showed his liver enzymes were markedly
elevated. We then took samples for HIV and hepatitis screening.
At about 5.00pm, he requested to see a doctor. I was the doctor on call that
night so I went in to see him. He was lying in bed with his intravenous (I.V.)
fluid bag removed from its metal stand and placed beside him. He complained
that he had stooled about five times that evening and that he wanted to use the
bathroom again. I picked up the I.V. bag from his bed and hung it back on the
stand. I told him I would inform a nurse to come and disconnect the I.V. so he
could conveniently go to the bathroom. I walked out of his room and went
straight to the nurses’ station where I told the nurse on duty to disconnect
his I.V. I then informed my Consultant, Dr. Ameyo Adadevoh about the patient’s
condition and she asked that he be placed on some medications.
The following day, the results for HIV and hepatitis screening came out
negative. As we were preparing for the early morning ward rounds, I was
approached by an ECOWAS official who informed me that Patrick Sawyer had to
catch an 11 o’clock flight to Calabar for a retreat that morning.
He wanted to know if it would be possible. I told him it wasn’t, as he was
acutely ill. Dr. Adadevoh also told him the patient could certainly not leave
the hospital in his condition. She then instructed me to write very boldly on
his chart that on no account should Patrick Sawyer be allowed out of the
hospital premises without the permission of Dr. Ohiaeri, our Chief Medical Consultant.
All nurses and doctors were duly informed.
During our early morning ward round with Dr. Adadevoh, we concluded that this
was not malaria and that the patient needed to be screened for Ebola Viral
Disease. She immediately started calling laboratories to find out where the
test could be carried out. She was eventually referred to Professor Omilabu of
the LUTH Virology Reference Lab in Idi-Araba whom she called immediately. Prof.
Omilabu told her to send blood and urine samples to LUTH straight away. She
tried to reach the Lagos State Commissioner for Health but was unable to
contact him at the time. She also put calls across to officials of the Federal
Ministry of Health and National Centre for Disease Control.
Dr. Adadevoh at this time was in a pensive mood. Patrick Sawyer was now a
suspected case of Ebola, perhaps the first in the country. He was quarantined,
and strict barrier nursing was applied with all the precautionary measures we
could muster.
Dr. Adadevoh went online, downloaded information on Ebola and printed
copies which were distributed to the nurses, doctors and ward maids. Blood and
urine samples were sent to LUTH that morning. Protective gear, gloves, shoe
covers and facemasks were provided for the staff. A wooden barricade was placed
at the entrance of the door to keep visitors and unauthorized personnel away
from the patient.
Despite the medications prescribed earlier, the vomiting and diarrhea
persisted. The fever escalated from 38c to 40c.
On the morning of Wednesday 23rd July, the tests carried out in LUTH showed a
signal for Ebola. Samples were then sent to Dakar, Senegal for a confirmatory
test. Dr. Adadevoh went for several meetings with the Lagos State Ministry of
Health. Thereafter, officials from Lagos State came to inspect the hospital and
the protective measures we had put in place.
The following day, Thursday 24th July, I was again on call. At about 10.00pm
Mr. Sawyer requested to see me. I went into the newly created dressing room,
donned my protective gear and went in to see him. He had not been cooperating
with the nurses and had refused any additional treatment. He sounded confused
and said he received a call from Liberia asking for a detailed medical report
to be sent to them.
He also said he had to travel back to Liberia on a 5.00am flight the following
morning and that he didn’t want to miss his flight. I told him that I would
inform Dr. Adadevoh. As I was leaving the room, I met Dr. Adadevoh dressed in
her protective gear along with a nurse and another doctor. They went into his
room to have a discussion with him and as I heard later to reset his I.V. line
which he had deliberately removed after my visit to his room.
At 6:30am, Friday 25th July, I got a call from the nurse that Patrick Sawyer
was completely unresponsive. Again I put on the protective gear and headed to
his room. I found him slumped in the bathroom. I examined him and observed that
there was no respiratory movement. I felt for his pulse; it was absent. We had
lost him. It was I who certified Patrick Sawyer dead. I informed Dr. Adadevoh
immediately and she instructed that no one was to be allowed to go into his
room for any reason at all.
Later that day, officials from W.H.O came and took his body away. The test in
Dakar later came out positive for Zaire strain of the Ebola virus. We now had
the first official case of Ebola virus disease in Nigeria.
It was a sobering day. We all began to go over all that happened in the last
few days, wondering just how much physical contact we had individually made
with Patrick Sawyer. Every patient on admission was discharged that day and
decontamination began in the hospital.
We were now managing a crisis situation. The next day, Saturday 26th July, all
staff of First Consultants attended a meeting with Prof. Nasidi of the National
Centre for Disease Control, Prof Omilabu of LUTH Virology Reference Lab, and
some officials of W.H.O. They congratulated us on the actions we had taken and
enlightened us further about the Ebola Virus Disease. They said we were going to
be grouped into high risk and low risk categories based on our individual level
of exposure to Patrick Sawyer, the “index” case. Each person would receive a
temperature chart and a thermometer to record temperatures in the morning and
night for the next 21 days. We were all officially under surveillance. We were
asked to report to them at the first sign of a fever for further blood tests to
be done. We were reassured that we would all be given adequate care. The
anxiety in the air was palpable.
The frenetic pace of life in Lagos, coupled with the demanding nature of my job
as a doctor, means that I occasionally need a change of environment. As such,
one week before Patrick Sawyer died, I had gone to my parents’ home for a
retreat. I was still staying with them when I received my temperature chart and
thermometer on Tuesday 29th of July.
I could not contain my anxiety. People were talking Ebola everywhere – on
television, online, everywhere. I soon started experiencing joint and muscle
aches and a sore throat, which I quickly attributed to stress and anxiety. I
decided to take malaria tablets. I also started taking antibiotics for the sore
throat. The first couple of temperature readings were normal. Every day I would
attempt to recall the period Patrick Sawyer was on admission – just how much
direct and indirect contact did I have with him? I reassured myself that my
contact with him was quite minimal. I completed the anti-malarials but the
aches and pains persisted. I had loss of appetite and felt very tired.
On Friday 1st of August, my temperature read a high 38.7c. As I type this, I
recall the anxiety I felt that morning. I could not believe what I saw on the
thermometer. I ran to my mother’s room and told her. I did not go to work that
day. I cautiously started using a separate set of utensils and cups from the
ones my family members were using.
On Saturday 2nd of August, the fever worsened. It was now at 39c and would not
be reduced by taking paracetamol. This was now my second day of fever. I couldn’t
eat. The sore throat was getting worse. That was when I called the helpline and
an ambulance was sent with W.H.O doctors who came and took a sample of my
blood. Later that day, I started stooling and vomiting. I stayed away from my
family. I started washing my plates and spoons myself. My parents meanwhile,
were convinced that I could not have Ebola.
The following day, Sunday 3rd of August, I got a call from one of the doctors
who came to take my sample the day before. He told me that the sample which was
they had taken was not confirmatory, and that they needed another sample. He
did not sound very coherent and I became worried. They came with the ambulance
that afternoon and told me that I had to go with them to Yaba. I was confused.
Couldn’t the second sample be taken in the ambulance like the previous one? He
said a better-qualified person at the Yaba centre would take the sample. I
asked if they would bring me back. He said “yes.” Even with the symptoms I did
not believe I had Ebola. After all, my contact with Sawyer was minimal. I only
touched his I.V. fluid bag just that once without gloves. The only time I
actually touched him was when I checked his pulse and confirmed him dead, and I
wore double gloves and felt adequately protected.
I told my parents I had to go with the officials to Yaba and that I would be
back that evening. I wore a white top and a pair of jeans, and I put my iPad
and phones in my bag.
A man opened the ambulance door for me and moved away from me rather swiftly.
Strange behavior, I thought. They were friendly with me the day before, but
that day, not so. No pleasantries, no smiles. I looked up and saw my mother
watching through her bedroom window.
We soon got to Yaba. I really had no clue where I was. I knew it was a
hospital. I was left alone in the back of the ambulance for over four hours. My
mind was in a whirl. I didn’t know what to think. I was offered food to eat but
I could barely eat the rice.
The ambulance door opened and a Caucasian gentleman approached me but kept a little
distance. He said to me, “I have to inform you that your blood tested positive
for Ebola. I am sorry.” I had no reaction. I think I must have been in shock.
He then told me to open my mouth and he looked at my tongue. He said it was the
typical Ebola tongue. I took out my mirror from my bag and took a look and I
was shocked at what I saw. My whole tongue had a white coating, looked furry
and had a long, deep ridge right in the middle. I then started to look at my
whole body, searching for Ebola rashes and other signs as we had been recently
instructed. I called my mother immediately and said, “Mummy, they said I have
Ebola, but don’t worry, I will survive it. Please, go and lock my room now;
don’t let anyone inside and don’t touch anything.” She was silent. I cut the
line.
I was taken to the female ward. I was shocked at the environment. It looked
like an abandoned building. I suspected it had not been in use for quite a
while. As I walked in, I immediately recognized one of the ward maids from our
hospital. She always had a smile for me but not this time. She was ill and she
looked it. She had been stooling a lot too. I soon settled into my corner and
looked around the room. It smelled of faeces and vomit. It also had a
characteristic Ebola smell to which I became accustomed. Dinner was served –
rice and stew. The pepper stung my mouth and tongue. I dropped the spoon. No
dinner that night.
Dr. David, the Caucasian man who had met me at the ambulance on my arrival,
came in wearing his full protective ‘hazmat’ suit and goggles. It was
fascinating seeing one live. I had only seen them online. He brought bottles of
water and ORS, the oral fluid therapy which he dropped by my bedside. He told
me that 90 percent of the treatment depended on me. He said I had to drink at
least 4.5 litres of ORS daily to replace fluids lost in stooling and vomiting.
I told him I had stooled three times earlier and taken Imodium tablets to stop
the stooling. He said it was not advisable, as the virus would replicate the
more inside of me. It was better he said to let it out. He said good night and
left.
My parents called. My uncle called. My husband called crying. He could not
believe the news. My parents had informed him, as I didn’t even know how to
break the news to him.
As I lay on my bed in that isolation ward, strangely, I did not fear for my
life. I was confident that I would leave that ward some day. There was an inner
sense of calm. I did not for a second think I would be consumed by the disease.
That evening, the symptoms fully kicked in. I was stooling almost every two
hours. The toilets did not flush so I had to fetch water in a bucket from the
bathroom each time I used the toilet. I then placed another bucket beneath my
bed for the vomiting.
On occasion I would run to the toilet with a bottle of ORS, so that as I was
stooling, I was drinking.
The next day Monday 4th of August, I began to notice red rashes on my skin
particularly on my arms. I had developed sores all over my mouth. My head was
pounding so badly. The sore throat was so severe I could not eat. I could only
drink the ORS. I took paracetamol for the pain. The ward maid across from me
wasn’t doing so well. She had stopped speaking. I couldn’t even brush my teeth;
the sores in my mouth were so bad. This was a battle for my life but I was
determined I would not die.
Every morning, I began the day with reading and meditating on Psalm 91. The
sanitary condition in the ward left much to be desired.
The whole Ebola thing had caught everyone by surprise. Lagos State Ministry of
Health was doing its best to contain the situation but competent hands were
few. The sheets were not changed for days. The floor was stained with greenish
vomitus and excrement. Dr. David would come in once or twice a day and help
clean up the ward after chatting with us. He was the only doctor who attended
to us.
There was no one else at that time. The matrons would leave our food outside
the door; we had to go get the food ourselves. They hardly entered in the
initial days. Everyone was being careful. This was all so new. I could
understand, was this not how we ourselves had contracted the disease?
Mosquitoes were our roommates until they brought us mosquito nets.
Later that evening, Dr. David brought another lady into the ward. I recognized
her immediately as Justina Ejelonu, a nurse who had started working at First
Consultants on the 21st of July, a day after Patrick Saywer was admitted. She
was on duty on the day Patrick reported that he was stooling. While she was
attending to him that night, he had yanked off his drip, letting his blood flow
almost like a tap onto her hands. Justina was pregnant and was brought into our
ward bleeding from a suspected miscarriage. She had been told she was there
only on observation. The news that she had contracted Ebola was broken to her
the following day after results of her blood test came out positive. Justina
was devastated and wept profusely – she had contracted Ebola on her first day
at work.
My husband started visiting but was not allowed to come close to me. He could
only see me from a window at a distance. He visited so many times. It was he
who brought me a change of clothes and toiletries and other things I needed
because I had not even packed a bag. I was grateful I was not with him at home when
I fell ill or he would most certainly have contracted the disease. My retreat
at my parents’ home turned out to be the instrumentality God used to shield and
save him.
I drank the ORS fluid like my life depended on it. Then I got a call from my
pastor. He had been informed about my predicament. He called me every single
day morning and night and would pray with me over the phone. He later sent me a
CD player, CDs of messages on faith and healing, and Holy Communion packs
through my husband. My pastor, who also happens to be a medical doctor,
encouraged me to monitor how many times I had stooled and vomited each day and
how many bottles of ORS I had consumed. We would then discuss the disease and
pray together. He asked me to do my research on Ebola since I had my iPad with
me and told me that he was also doing his study. He wanted us to use all
relevant information on Ebola to our advantage. So I researched and found out
all I could about the strange disease that has been in existence for 38 years.
My research, my faith, my positive view of life, the extended times of prayer,
study and listening to encouraging messages boosted my belief that I would
survive the Ebola scourge.
There are five strains of the virus and the deadliest of them is the Zaire strain,
which was what I had. But that did not matter. I believed I would overcome even
the deadliest of strains. Infected patients who succumb to the disease usually
die between 6 to 16 days after the onset of the disease from multiple organ
failure and shock caused by dehydration. I was counting the days and keeping
myself well hydrated. I didn’t intend to die in that ward.
My research gave me ammunition. I read that as soon as the virus gets into the
body, it begins to replicate really fast. It enters the blood cells, destroys
them and uses those same blood cells to aggressively invade other organs where
they further multiply. Ideally, the body’s immune system should immediately
mount up a response by producing antibodies to fight the virus. If the person is
strong enough, and that strength is sustained long enough for the immune system
to kill off the viruses, the patient is likely to survive. If the virus
replicates faster than the antibodies can handle however, further damage is
done to the organs. Ebola can be likened to a multi-level, multi-organ attack
but I had no intention of letting the deadly virus destroy my system. I drank
more ORS. I remember saying to myself repeatedly, “I am a survivor, I am a
survivor.”
I also found out that a patient with Ebola cannot be re-infected and they
cannot relapse back into the disease as there is some immunity conferred on
survivors. My pastor and I would discuss these findings, interpret them as it
related to my situation and pray together. I looked forward to his calls. They
were times of encouragement and strengthening. I continued to meditate on the
Word of God. It was my daily bread.
Shortly after Justina came into the ward, the ward maid, Mrs Ukoh passed on.
The disease had gotten into her central nervous system. We stared at her
lifeless body in shock. It was a whole 12 hours before officials of W.H.O came
and took her body away. The ward had become the house of death. The whole area
surrounding her bed was disinfected with bleach. Her mattress was taken and burned.
To contain the frequent diarrhea, I had started wearing adult diapers, as
running to the toilet was no longer convenient for me. The indignity was quite
overwhelming, but I did not have a choice. My faith was being severely tested.
The situation was desperate enough to break anyone psychologically. Dr. Ohiaeri
also called us day and night, enquiring about our health and the progress we
were making. He sent provisions, extra drugs, vitamins, Lucozade, towels,
tissue paper; everything we needed to be more comfortable in that dark hole we
found ourselves. Some of my male colleagues had also been admitted to the male
ward two rooms away, but there was no interaction with them.
We were saddened by the news that Jato, the ECOWAS protocol officer to Patrick Sawyer
who had also tested positive, had passed on days after he was admitted.
Two more females joined us in the ward; a nurse from our hospital and a patient
from another hospital. The mood in the ward was solemn. There were times we
would be awakened by the sudden, loud cry from one of the women. It was either
from fear, pain mixed with the distress or just the sheer oppression of our
isolation.
I kept encouraging myself. This could not be the end for me. Five days after I
was admitted, the vomiting stopped. A day after that, the diarrhea ceased. I
was overwhelmed with joy. It happened at a time I thought I could no longer
stand the ORS. Drinking that fluid had stretched my endurance greatly.
I knew countless numbers of people were praying for me. Prayer meetings were
being held on my behalf. My family was praying day and night. Text messages of
prayers flooded my phones from family members and friends. I was encouraged to
press on. With the encouragement I was receiving I began to encourage the
others in the ward. We decided to speak life and focus on the positive. I then
graduated from drinking only the ORS fluid to eating only bananas, to drinking
pap and then bland foods. Just when I thought I had the victory, I suddenly
developed a severe fever. The initial fever had subsided four days after I was
admitted, and then suddenly it showed up again. I thought it was the Ebola. I
enquired from Dr. David who said fever was sometimes the last thing to go, but
he expressed surprise that it had stopped only to come back on again. I was
perplexed.
I
discussed it with my pastor who said it could be a separate pathology and
possibly a symptom of malaria. He promised he would research if indeed this was
Ebola or something else. That night as I stared at the dirty ceiling, I felt a
strong impression that the new fever I had developed was not as a result of
Ebola but malaria. I was relieved. The following morning, Dr. Ohiaeri sent me
antimalarial medication which I took for three days. Before the end of the
treatment, the fever had disappeared.
I began to think about my mother. She was under surveillance along with my
other family members. I was worried. She had touched my sweat. I couldn’t get
the thought off my mind. I prayed for her. Hours later on Twitter I came across
a tweet by W.H.O saying that the sweat of an Ebola patient cannot transmit the
virus at the early stage of the infection. The sweat could only transmit it at
the late stage.
That settled it for me. It calmed the storms that were raging within me concerning
my parents. I knew right away it was divine guidance that caused me to see that
tweet. I could cope with having Ebola, but I was not prepared to deal with a
member of my family contracting it from me.
Soon, volunteer doctors started coming to help Dr. David take care of us. They
had learned how to protect themselves. Among the volunteer doctors was Dr.
Badmus, my consultant in LUTH during my housemanship days. It was good to see a
familiar face among the care-givers. I soon understood the important role these
brave volunteers were playing. As they increased in number, so did the number
of shifts increase and subsequently the number of times the patients could
access a doctor in one day. This allowed for more frequent patient monitoring
and treatment. It also reduced care-giver fatigue. It was clear that Lagos
State was working hard to contain the crisis
Sadly, Justina succumbed to the disease on the 12th of August. It was a great
blow and my faith was greatly shaken as a result. I commenced daily Bible study
with the other two female patients and we would encourage one another to stay
positive in our outlook though in the natural it was grim and very depressing.
My communion sessions with the other women were very special moments for us
all.
On
my 10th day in the ward, the doctors having noted that I had stopped vomiting
and stooling and was no longer running a fever, decided it was time to take my
blood sample to test if the virus had cleared from my system. They took the
sample and told me that I shouldn’t be worried if it comes out positive as the
virus takes a while before it is cleared completely. I prayed that I didn’t
want any more samples collected from me. I wanted that to be the first and last
sample to be tested for the absence of the virus in my system. I called my
pastor. He encouraged me and we prayed again about the test.
On the evening of the day Justina passed on, we were moved to the new isolation
centre. We felt like we were leaving hell and going to heaven.
We were conveyed to the new place in an ambulance. It was just behind the old
building. Time would not permit me to recount the drama involved with the
dynamics of our relocation. It was like a script from a science fiction movie.
The new building was cleaner and much better than the old building. Towels and
nightwear were provided on each bed. The environment was serene.
The following night, Dr. Adadevoh was moved to our isolation ward from her
private room where she had previously been receiving treatment. She had also
tested positive for Ebola and was now in a coma. She was receiving I.V. fluids
and oxygen support and was being monitored closely by the W.H.O doctors. We all
hoped and prayed that she would come out of it. It was so difficult seeing her
in that state. I could not bear it. She was my consultant, my boss, my teacher
and my mentor. She was the imperial lady of First Consultants, full of passion,
energy and competence. I imagined she would wake up soon and see that she was
surrounded by her First Consultants family but sadly it was not to be.
I continued listening to my healing messages. They gave me life. I literarily
played them hours on end. Two days later, on Saturday the 16th of August, the
W.H.O doctors came with some papers. I was informed that the result of my blood
test was negative for Ebola virus. If I could somersault, I would have but my
joints were still slightly painful. I was free to go home after being in
isolation for exactly 14 days. I was so full of thanks and praise to God. I
called my mother to get fresh clothes and slippers and come pick me. My husband
couldn’t stop shouting when I called him. He was completely overwhelmed with
joy.
I was told however that I could not leave the ward with anything I came in
with. I glanced one last time at my cd player, my valuable messages, my
research assistant a.k.a my iPad, my phones and other items. I remember saying
to myself, “I have life; I can always replace these items.”
I went for a chlorine bath, which was necessary to disinfect my skin from my
head to my toes. It felt like I was being baptized into a new life as Dr.
Carolina, a W.H.O doctor from Argentina poured the bucket of chlorinated water
all over me. I wore a new set of clothes, following the strict instructions
that no part of the clothes must touch the floor and the walls. Dr. Carolina
looked on, making sure I did as instructed.
I was led out of the bathroom and straight to the lawn to be united with my
family, but first I had to cut the red ribbon that served as a barrier. It was
a symbolic expression of my freedom. Everyone cheered and clapped. It was a
little but very important ceremony for me. I was free from Ebola! I hugged my
family as one who had been liberated after many years of incarceration. I was
like someone who had fought death face to face and come back to the land of the
living.
We had to pass through several stations of disinfection before we reached the
car. Bleach and chlorinated water were sprayed on everyone’s legs at each
station. As we made our way to the car, we walked past the old isolation
building. I could hardly recognize it. I could not believe I slept in that
building for 10 days. I was free! Free of Ebola. Free to live again. Free to
interact with humanity again. Free from the sentence of death.
My parents and two brothers were under surveillance for 21 days and they
completed the surveillance successfully. None of them came down with a fever.
The house had been disinfected by Lagos State Ministry of Health soon after I
was taken to the isolation centre. I thank God for shielding them from the
plague.
My recovery after discharge has been gradual but progressive. I thank God for
the support of family and friends. I remember my colleagues who we lost in this
battle. Dr. Adadevoh my boss, Nurse Justina Ejelonu, and the ward maid, Mrs.
Ukoh were heroines who lost their lives in the cause to protect Nigeria. They
will never be forgotten.
I commend the dedication of the W.H.O doctors, Dr. David from Virginia, USA,
who tried several times to convince me to specialize in infectious diseases,
Dr. Carolina from Argentina who spoke so calmly and encouragingly, Mr. Mauricio
from Italy who always offered me apples and gave us novels to read. I
especially thank the volunteer Nigerian doctors, matrons and cleaners who
risked their lives to take care of us. I must also commend the Lagos State
government, and the state and federal ministries of health for their swift
efforts to contain the virus. To all those prayed for me, I cannot thank you
enough. And to my First Consultants family, I say a heartfelt thank you for
your dedication and for your support throughout this very difficult period.
I still believe in miracles. None of us in the isolation ward was given any
experimental drugs or so-called immune boosters. I was full of faith yet
pragmatic enough to consume as much ORS as I could even when I wanted to give
up and throw the bottles away. I researched on the disease extensively and read
accounts of the survivors. I believed that even if the mortality rate was 99%,
I would be part of the 1% who survive.
Early detection and reporting to hospital is key to patient survival. Please do
not hide yourself if you have been in contact with an Ebola patient and have
developed the symptoms. Regardless of any grim stories one may have heard about
the treatment of patients in the isolation centre, it is still better to be in
the isolation ward with specialist care, than at home where you and others will
be at risk.
I read that Dr. Kent Brantly, the American doctor who contracted Ebola in Liberia
and was flown out to the United States for treatment was being criticized for
attributing his healing to God when he was given the experimental drug, Zmapp.
I don’t claim to have all the answers to the nagging questions of life. Why do
some die and some survive? Why do bad things happen to good people? Where is
God in the midst of pain and suffering? Where does science end and God begin?
These are issues we may never fully comprehend on this side of eternity. All I
know is that I walked through the valley of the shadow of death and came out
unscathed.
