On 19 July, I spoke to Ameyo Stella Adadevoh,
the senior Consultant Endocrinologist and
Physician, who has just died of the Ebola Virus
Disease (EVD), to schedule a previously agreed
medical review. It was a Saturday. We agreed
that I would come in the following Monday, July
21.
On 20 July, Patrick Sawyer, the index case now
thought to have brought EVD into Nigeria, was
admitted into the hospital where Ameyo worked.
On 21 July, I attended the appointment as agreed.
She had completed the rounds where she
reviewed the cases, including Mr. Sawyer. She
saw me shortly after mid-day. As always, it was
professional and detailed. Unknown to me,
Sawyer was already in the hospital. Unknown to
her, he was already terminally symptomatic with
EVD. We managed on that day to do my review
and, curiously in hind-sight, fit in a conversation
about life, death and dying.
As she would herself later narrate with her Chief
Medical Director, Dr Benjy Ohiaeri, Mr. Sawyer, on
admission “denied having been in contact with
any person with EVD at home, in any hospital or
at any burial.” So, on 21 July, Mr. Sawyer was
being managed for Malaria. He had tested
positive for Malaria parasites.
It would take another day before the full
possibility would hit home. By then, she’d
probably already had fatal exposure to the virus.
But, once she struck upon the possibility that Mr.
Sawyer was EVD-positive, Ameyo “immediately
isolated/quarantined the patient, commenced
barrier nursing and simultaneously contacted the
Lagos State Ministry of Health and the Federal
Ministry of Health to enquire where further
laboratory tests could be performed as we had a
high index of suspicion of possible Ebola Virus
Disease. We refused for him to be let out of the
hospital in spite of intense pressure.” Her
suspicions proved correct.
That is Ameyo! If the occasion demanded it, she
could be martial with care and sweeping in her
command. She had earned her right to calibrated
authority.
The consequences could have been unfathomable
if Mr. Sawyer had ended up in a General Hospital,
for instance. It required someone with her
capabilities and pedigree to be able to take the
measures needed to firewall Mr. Sawyer and limit
the contamination that he would have inflicted.
For that, she paid with her life.
Ameyo became a doctor at 25. She had been my
personal and family doctor for over 15 years.
Her roots were both deep and grand. She is one
of the few Nigerians the face of whose recent
ancestor adorns one of our currency
denominations. Her Great-Grand Father, Herbert
Macaulay, is one of the most celebrated founders
of modern Nigeria. Her father was himself a
distinguished physician, academic and university
administrator of considerable distinction.
Not that any of this mattered much to her. When
Ameyo qualified as a doctor in 1981, I was still a
kid in High School. Yet, I could get away with
calling her “Ameyo”. To many of the children, she
was “Auntie Ameyo”. She simply wanted to get
things done, and done right.
That was important to her: doing things right. In
her field, Ameyo took no prisoners and tolerated
no half measures. If you came to her with issues
outside her field, she knew the experts to. If you
showed up hoping to get worshipped, you were in
the wrong shrine.
There was something about her directness,
professionalism, commitment to knowledge and
curiosity, and irreverence that made Ameyo
deserving of respect well beyond the calling of the
cloth. She loved her calling and was totally
dedicated to it.
When my kid brother died in June 2006, my Dad
suffered terribly. She took charge of his
management and inspired him to re-discover joie
de vivre. While she battled for her life this past
week and more, my Mum and Dad in Imo State
joined in the legion of Nigerians who prayed and
wished for a different ending. Like many people
who had passed through her, Dad’s testimony is
quite simple: “that woman saved my life!”
Nigeria is lucky that Mr. Sawyer ended up in the
care of Dr. Ameyo Stella Adadevoh and the team
she led. A less able lead or a less dedicated team
could have let itself and the country down.
Unlike many of her peers, Ameyo didn’t play god.
Nor did she celebrate not having read any medical
journal after Medical School. On the contrary, she
knew her specialty and invested heavily in being
up to date with the latest journals and skills in it.
She was always honest about where the limits of
her skills lay and would happily refer cases to
colleagues with the requisite specialty whether in
or outside Nigeria. She had one heck of a
professional Rolodex!
All of us who had the privilege of ever having
been managed or attended to by her would testify
that this was a professional of exceptional
thoughtfulness, ability, diligence, and application.
The many colleagues whom she mentored or
supported would too. We’ve all lost an
outstanding person, support, redoubt, and
professional.
Ameyo had one of the sharpest minds you’d ever
meet. She was at home discussing experimental
physics, molecular biology, public health, lip-stick,
the science behind bra-sizes, or different genres
of music. She loved life. She was the mother of a
son whom she loved more than life itself and lived
with a mother to whom she was devoted. The
void she leaves behind cannot be filled. They
deserve our thoughts, care and prayers.
Because of the circumstances of her passing,
there may be no grave to memorialise Ameyo.
This is why we must give careful thought to how
to do so. We must hold up and celebrate her
example of selfless professionalism to the point
of death. And, as a people, we must be grateful
that someone like her is still in supply in our
country.
Ameyo always had the Hippocratic Oath hung in
front of her on the left wall in her consulting
room, just beside her certificate. I once asked her
why? She said if you don’t believe (in) it you
shouldn’t be here. She died true to her oath and
calling. Our country owes her a debt we can never
repay. She was truly and exceptionally special.
Chidi Odinkalu is the chairman of the National
Human Rights Commission.


Source
http://www.vanguardngr.com/2014/08/ameyo-adadevoh-knew-prof-odinkalu/