Unknown to this doctor, his actions were being captured by a phone camera. What he did to these three little girls was exposed, and once you find out, you’ll cry. Dr. Chima Matthew frowned at the three little girls in the examination room. They squirmed under his gaze, huddling together and trying to be as small as possible. Their hearts were racing, their mouths were dry, and their limbs were trembling.
Dr. Chima lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed by their reactions. Dr. Chima was a pediatrician, and he was there to examine one of the girls. They had booked a last-minute appointment, and it had been inconvenient for him to slot it into his packed schedule. In fact, he’d been awake for more than 36 hours, attending to patients. He was supposed to have clocked out over 24 hours ago, but his colleague was sick while another had an emergency, which left Dr. Chima as the only doctor available.
Dr. Chima had counted on a brief examination, coming up with a diagnosis on the spot and possibly collecting samples to be sent to the lab. Then he could go home and sleep for a long time. He hadn’t counted on coming face to face with three little girls who appeared like deer stuck in the headlights. He tamped down the frustration that simmered within; this appointment would take a while unless he did something, and he wasn’t sure what. He was tempted to postpone the appointment, but he caught sight of the girls’ mom sitting quietly in a corner and watching him.
When he entered the room, he’d introduced himself to her, and in return, she told him that her name was Wendy Moses. She was wearing soft-soled sneakers, a baggy blouse, and washed-out denims. He could tell she was a woman who worked very hard to provide for her daughters. That kind of woman did what was necessary for her girls, including having to skip precious work hours to bring her sick daughter to the hospital. Dr. Chima suspected Wendy brought all three girls because she didn’t have anyone who could watch the other two at home.
Dr. Chima always regarded moms as superheroes, and for that reason, he knew he couldn’t postpone the appointment. If nothing else, he wanted to lighten Wendy’s burden. Also, something about Wendy’s composure betrayed her uneasiness, which was rubbing off on her daughters as well.
Taking a deep breath, Dr. Chima withdrew his phone from the pocket of his scrubs and hummed absent-mindedly as he scrolled through his playlist. The three little girls looked at each other, wearing matching puzzled expressions. Was the doctor ignoring them? Did it mean they could go home without getting injections? The thought of it was a relief.
Meanwhile, Wendy Moses, the girls’ mom, didn’t like that Dr. Chima was acting in a way she considered too casual. Wendy and her daughters were Black, and she had hoped that the doctor who would attend to them would not be discriminatory, dismissing their symptoms, or making them wait longer than necessary. It had happened before. She was relieved when she saw that Dr. Chima was Black too, but now Wendy was questioning the wisdom of it. Dr. Chima was basically scrolling through his phone and ignoring her and the girls; this was really unprofessional. That behavior was uncalled for, and she had every intention of gathering evidence against him.
With that mission set in view, Wendy secretly reached into her bag and grabbed her phone while Dr. Chima’s back was turned to her (because he was standing in front of the girls). She opened her phone camera, tapped on video, and started recording. She made sure to keep the lower part of her phone in her bag and allow only the upper part to protrude slightly; that’s where the camera was fixed. Wendy didn’t have an excellent phone; she was a working mother and didn’t need fancy gadgets that cost money that was better put to use elsewhere. As a result, the quality of video she usually captured with her phone wasn’t great and could even be grainy sometimes. But she didn’t let that deter her. “Someone has to teach these stuck-up doctors a lesson,” she muttered under her breath.
Wendy didn’t like doctors. She had been raised by parents who rarely visited the hospital unless they were hanging on to life by a thread. As a little girl, she thought they’d been overreacting and simply trying to cut down on expenses since they didn’t have health insurance growing up. Wendy had worked hard to be in a position to afford health insurance. She had been pleased with herself until she started visiting hospitals for treatment.
A long time ago, Wendy had come down with a case of severe flu which had hurt her joints so much she’d been unable to attend her university classes. She hadn’t even been able to go to her part-time job because she’d been in terrible pain. When she’d gone to the hospital, she’d waited a long time to see the doctor. He’d been White, and after asking her some questions, he’d examined her, wrote down a prescription for her, and asked her to go get the medicine at the pharmacy. He’d been brief, like he had no time to spare, but he waved it away, instructing her to start with the medications first. He had believed that the pain was a side effect of the flu and should be gone in a few days. If it wasn’t, then she would be examined to see if her health had worsened.
Wendy had been incredulous. She had thought doctors were supposed to attend to you when the signs of a serious sickness were looming, not wait for you to completely break down before they did something about it. More experiences had followed that first one and had caused Wendy to resolve to visit the hospital only when completely necessary.
When Wendy was pregnant with her eldest daughter, there had been no way around it for her. She had needed to visit the hospital on a regular basis. It hadn’t been all that bad because she’d been dealing directly with midwives and occasionally a friendly OBGYN. But on the day that she had gone into labor, she had experienced hell. Wendy had arrived at the hospital half an hour earlier than a White woman in intense pain, but the White woman had screamed once, and the medics had wheeled her into the labor room. Wendy had been shocked to her marrow. She had friends who had shared that they’d experienced such a thing when they were trying to give birth, but a part of Wendy had thought her friends had been exaggerating. Weren’t both the Black and White women pregnant and in labor? Why did the White woman have to be prioritized? That culture disgusted Wendy.
Angry, she had stood up and demanded to be attended to, but the doctor had told her that she wasn’t quite there. Wendy had been taken aback. Her water had broken, she had been experiencing intense contractions, and yet they told her she wasn’t quite there simply because she wasn’t screaming down the hospital. Wendy had started pacing the hospital hallway, unwilling to be dispirited. Several nurses had asked her to relax, but she had refused and persisted in her pacing. Less than 30 minutes later, a cry had torn out of her throat. One of the nurses had looked beneath Wendy’s dress, seen the head of the baby, and had rallied up medics together. They had rushed Wendy to the ward where she’d given birth. She hadn’t even used the labor room because they’d been occupied, but she had delivered her B baby before the two women in the labor room did.
In bringing her children to the hospital for doctors’ appointments when they were little, Wendy had continued to experience unsatisfying attitudes from medics, especially doctors. Her daughters hadn’t felt welcome at hospitals either, so the family sparingly went there. Unfortunately, Wendy’s middle daughter, a 7-year-old Osis, fell sick. It had begun as a mild cough before autumn had complained that her throat was itching. Wendy had given her warm water and honey to soothe the throat. Autumn had gotten instant relief, but less than 24 hours later, her health had worsened. Wendy knew this because her middle daughter had been curled up in bed, sleeping at 5:00 p.m., instead of playing with her sisters as she usually did. When Wendy had shaken her awake, Autumn said she just felt tired.
The following day, Autumn had been moving her food around on the plate. When Wendy had asked her what the matter was, she said that she didn’t feel hungry. That night, summer, Wendy’s oldest daughter who was 8 years old, had run to her with tears in her eyes, “Mommy, Autumn’s body is so hot and she’s shaking so bad.” Wendy had raced to the girls’ room and found Autumn running a fever. She had given her a cold bath to cool down her temperature and fed her some aspirin because she had a headache. She had tried to give her food to eat, but Autumn had refused, saying she was nauseous. Wendy had pleaded with her to eat just a little since she’d barely eaten all day. Autumn had accepted to eat a small portion of one of her favorite foods, spaghetti and meatballs, but barely 10 minutes after eating, she’d thrown up. Looking at her mom with sad eyes, she had told Wendy that her stomach hurt so much she just wanted to lie down.
Wendy had no choice but to allow her. The time had been past 11:00 p.m., but Wendy had left her house at that time to go to the pharmacy. She had found one in her neighborhood that was closing and had begged the pharmacist to help her. She had told the female pharmacist about her daughter’s symptoms personally. Wendy had thought it was the flu, but the pharmacist suspected strep throat
infection. The only way to know for sure was to go to the Children’s Hospital. Wendy’s heart had beat wildly in her chest. Her palms had gotten sweaty, her breath had been shallower, and she had sweated profusely. The pharmacist had forced her to take deep breaths, assuring her that her daughter would be okay.
Going to the hospital meant that autumn’s sickness was serious. The following morning, the first thing that Wendy had done was book a doctor’s appointment. Her husband had thought she was overreacting. It would cost more money and more time to go to the hospital, and the family couldn’t spare any. But Wendy had been firm in her decision to go. She had heard of cases of strep throat complications in children: severe trouble breathing, too weak to stand and laying so still they look lifeless, purple or blood-colored spots or dots on their skin with the presence of fever, and there were children who couldn’t open their mouths all the way anymore. Wendy worked in retail at the supermarket and had taken half the day off so she could take Autumn to the doctor’s appointment. Since there was no one to watch summer and 4-year-old Chrysin, she had brought them along to the doctor’s visit.
The faster that Autumn received treatment, the better it would be for everyone, including her sisters. Who would not catch it while Wendy and her daughters waited for the doctor, the girls had gotten nervous. They had started asking Wendy if they would get injections, be poked with needles, or be forced to drink something funny tasting. Wendy had tried to tell them that it wouldn’t be like that, but she hadn’t been convincing. So the girls looked like they were about to cry. That’s when Dr. Chima entered the room, wearing a slight frown which didn’t serve to ease their nerves. He asked the three girls to stand to the side before he did something shocking.
Dr. Chima was a black doctor whose parents had immigrated to the US from Nigeria to give him and his siblings a better life. His parents had wanted him to become a doctor, and for them, he had studied medicine. He hadn’t found the profession enjoyable but had stuck with it out of duty until a special incident involving a 9-year-old during his residency. A frantic mother had brought her 9-year-old son to the hospital. The boy had fallen off his bike and landed on his side, sustaining bruises. He hadn’t been wearing a helmet, and his mother had been worried he might be bleeding internally.
They ran a full-body scan on the boy and found him to be all right. The boy’s mother had complained bitterly to Dr. Chima that her son only liked to play rough, his performance in school had dropped, and he was always getting into trouble. Dr. Chima had no business engaging this mother-son pair, but he had done so, talking amicably with them, listening, and asking questions. That’s when he found out that the boy missed his father, who had moved out after his parents’ divorce. His father hadn’t been giving him much attention; his mother had been working long hours, and he had been lonely.
The boy’s mother had broken down in tears there in Dr. Chima’s office and had hugged her son. She hadn’t known. She had promised to improve for his sake and also call his dad to let him know. Dr. Chima had taken the woman’s contact and followed up on them. They had turned out fine. Since that day, he had approached medicine a little differently from his peers. It had been why he instantly recognized the nervousness of the girls and did something that’ll make you cry. On his playlist, he found Ayo and Teo’s “Rolex” and hit play.
The familiar tune of the popular song filled the room, and Dr. Chima started hyping the girls the way a DJ would. He danced to the lyrics enthusiastically, and in the girls’ eyes, he transformed into a different person. He was no longer scary; they knew the song and the steps, so it was easy for them to get into it with him. Wendy was dumbfounded; she hadn’t expected this outcome. Hearing the laughter and excitement in her daughters’ voices as they danced with Dr. Chima made her cry out of joy.
It was her family’s first time meeting a doctor that was laid-back and fun. She bravely brought out her phone from her bag and recorded the scene in full. In less than 2 minutes, Dr. Chima had impacted their lives in a magnificent way. Forever after autumn was attended to, Wendy shared the video with Dr. Chima, who sent it to the hospital admin. The video was posted to the hospital’s Facebook page, where it accumulated 11 million views and 177,000 comments in a short time.
Dr. Chima’s other patients and parents also came forward, testifying about how great he was at his job. “My 6-year-old has seen him a few times, and he was the same way with him. Absolutely amazing. He even knew I was nervous, and he did all he could to make me laugh,” one mother said. “Hands down one of the absolute best doctors I have ever had to deal with. He was a godsend to me and my daughter when we were there. He was so passionate and caring. Thank you for just being you. Don’t ever change. Thank you from the Barton family,” a commenter wrote.
World stars such as Ellen DeGeneres, Morris Chestnut, Tatiana Ali, and lots of news outlets got in touch with Wendy Moses and her girls for interviews. Autumn recovered so quickly after meeting with Dr. Chima that she was convinced he had magical healing powers. Since their viral fame, Wendy opened a new Facebook talent page for her daughters, who liked the attention and being recognized in public. She got a better phone to record videos of them, and soon the page got monetized and started bringing in a lot of extra money for their family.
Dr. Chima also had a fan page where he occasionally posted his interactions with patients. His popularity helped him secure better working conditions and work hours with the hospital management. He advocated for more doctors to be employed so that he and the others wouldn’t be overworked. Also, the traffic of people coming to that particular hospital increased as children wanted to meet the dancing doctor. He became known as the doctor who put smiles on people’s faces.
