Broken To Mend Broken Bodies

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Exhausted...
Sigh...

Driven by a childhood wonder,
frequent visits to the pediatric clinic,
the smile on the face of the doctor,
a reassuring answer to each question,
the warm touch of her hands...

 _“Mom, I'm going to be a doctor in future.”_ 

She smirks...inwardly.
The wall posters have paid off.

 _“That’s my boy.”_ 

Carrying this dream into secondary school,
motivated by Ben Carson
Gifted Hands is one good story.
It’s possible.
Medicine can be studied.

Preclinicals…
Anatomy like mountains,
Biochemistry, like waves that drown.
Physiology,
sometimes it breathes life,
sometimes it steals your sleep.

And then
The Obafemi Awolowo University, Ilé-Ifè.
The Dental Medical students, Part 2,
got their MB results.

Some passed.
Some got distinctions.
Some failed.

Normal, right?
At least, normal for medical school.

But then,
a shadow falls.

Someone committed suicide.
We don’t even know the name.
Just “someone.”
Gone.

 _“It’s happened before,”_ 
someone says.
 _“It will happen again.”_ 

The words sound cold.
Too cold.

And I wonder
is this what we signed up for?
Dreamers with scalpel-sharp ambition,
healers who limp through
their own bleeding nights?

The white coat shines,
but hides the stains of tears.
The stethoscope listens,
but who listens to us?

The applause at induction,
the oath sworn before witnesses—
they never mention
the silence of hostel rooms,
the chaos in the cerebral cortex,
the relationships that suffer,
the classmates who
never return.

We laugh in daylight,
weep in secret,
and still chase the dream,
though sometimes it feels
like the dream is chasing us,
and it has talons.

And the cycle continues
no changes in the system.
The next set follows.

Another exam,
another result list,
another whisper:

 _“It’s happened before._ 
 _It will happen again.”_



written by Apata Israel 

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