As I sat on the stretcher in the hospital that evening, I fixed my gaze at everything and nothing in particular. I turned my neck slightly to look at the big sachet of salt, sugar and water- hanging on a metallic stand close by. It was meant to be emptied inside my body through a needle. The needle was fixed into a vein which sprout out from my left arm. Awful. Very Awful.
The doctor who attended to me that evening called it ‘Drip’. His name was Amunaze. I saw it on the name tag which was pinned to this chest.
“It will give you energy and make you stronger” he said with confidence as he replaced the empty sachet with another one. I only nodded; how could I say no to what I didn’t even understand? It was his field of study; his specialty, and all that rang in my mind was the miracle he would do for me to escape the excruciating pain which swallowed me up at that moment, all in the name of sickness.
When he had left, I raised my left hand to my face and stared at it. It was as heavy as a log of wood. I was not only weak, I was in pains.
Pains from the different punctured openings on my both wrists (one of the reasons I never loved going to hospitals). He had pricked the syringe through my right wrist first, and then my left, before finally sinking it through my left arm.
“We want to collect your blood sample but your veins have all collapsed”
Collapsed? The only time such word had been used to my hearing was to describe instances when people suddenly became unconscious and fell to the floor. Not veins; not my veins.
So he used his three fingers again to tap aggressively on the lazy veins lying close to the elbow region of my left hand. This was after he had done the same for my right and left wrists respectively. Painful. Very painful.
“Sorry, about that” he said.
Then he found a vein and finally pricked the syringe through my skin and into that stubborn vein that would never show itself, unless it was tapped aggressively.
After he took the blood samples, he dismantled the syringe from its head, and connected the Sachet of Salt, Sugar and Water to my body.
So I watched as the ‘Drip’ -made of salt, sugar and water- flowed through the long tube into my body system.
I was in pains from all these, coupled with the sickness itself. My Head ached badly, my neck was stiff and painful, my Joints seemed like they were creaking and my eyes felt like they would fall off from their sockets. I wondered what kind of sickness it was.
I was too weak to ask for the Lab test results, and even after I recovered, I can’t remember if I did. But I knew it would be Malaria; I always knew so. Whenever I fell sick, it never went beyond malaria.
The only time I’d had something bigger than that was then I was diagnosed of Malaria and Typhoid. Maybe my body system loved to hear how it sounded through the doctor’s mouth. “You have typhoid and M-A-L-A-R-I-A”
The Sickness that evening paused my life a bit. And for some seconds, I thought about Life and Death.
But something in me convinced me that I wouldn’t die. I knew it wasn’t my time. Most people usually say that when one’s time has come; the person would know. I didn’t know how true this was, but there were so many of us that believed it, including me.
They would go on to say that the sick person, would have been sick for quite a long while and something inside the person would let him or her know that the only thing left was to embrace death peacefully. How the person recognized and embraced Death’s call, we never got to know.
Two figures walked up to me, in my state of peaceful reminiscence. From what I can recall, one held a Bible while the other held a little bag. I don’t think they introduced themselves; they only started by asking me how I felt.
They weren’t doctors, nurses, or workers in the hospital. I guess they were walking about, praying for patients.
“How do you feel? Are you anxious?”
Anxious? I almost burst out laughing. But I smiled deeply and replied “No, I’m not”.
“Don’t you feel scared that anything will happen?” I knew where they were heading to. They were asking if I thought I would die, but they didn’t want to come out clean.
“My time hasn’t come” I said.
“Oh; really?” They must have been wondering whether I had the powers of life and death in my hands.
“As far as God has given me life and grace up till now, even on this sick bed, then my time hasn’t come because I still have many missions to accomplish” I added.
They seemed to be impressed. Maybe I was the first patient that day who was exhibiting true confidence of my health status, in God’s name.
“Alright my brother, so what has this experience taught you?” One of them asked.
I paused for a while before speaking “well…it made me realize once more that the connection between life and death is a thin thread. Anything can happen to anyone at anytime” I said and after watching them nod without saying anything, I continued. “My daily life activities have come to a sudden halt. They’ll be there until I recover fully” and while I spoke, I pondered on all that I’d said. Life indeed was a precious gift from God.
They gave me few words of encouragement and they finally prayed with me before leaving. “Thank you so much” I said with a heartfelt appreciation as I lay back on the stretcher.
I looked towards the ‘Drip’, the sachet was empty. I shifted my gaze to other patients lying on stretchers at different positions. I could see a man directly opposite me, struggling for his life. He wore something over his nose; it was an oxygen mask and he breathed so fast. I shook my head in pity; one really needed to visit a hospital to know what fellow humans were going through.
Imagine the person’s breathing stopped, that would be it? Just like that?
I turned to my left; I saw an old woman. She was very aged and lay helpless on her stretcher. She was frequently checked up on, by different nurses until her family came for her. It was a young man, and a lady; they were accompanied by some hospital workers.
The young man made a call and positioned the phone for the aged woman to speak with someone face to face, over the phone; probably it was her daughter. They all called the old woman Mama.
I can’t say if mama had been admitted for a scheduled surgery or something else but when it was time for her to be moved out of the hospital to somewhere else, it became a problem.
Mama didn’t want to be moved. I watched as she suddenly became angry. And so the young man had to go outside and speak with the other woman over the phone. Then he came in few minutes later and positioned the phone once more for mama to speak with the woman. I watched as Mama’s countenance changed. She began to smile and before you know it, she was lifted carefully from her stretcher to the mobile stretcher designed to move her out. Then they all clapped for her, as a way of appreciating her for complying.
When they all moved out, the hospital went back to its default setting of nurses, doctors and hospital workers, walking up and down, for duty calls.
I knew I’d never see that woman again, and even if I happened to walk past her on the street the next day, I’d never recognize her.
Only that the whole scenario reminded me of my grandmother who was now late. We also called her Mama, and usually visited her as a family during some of her days in the hospital. Anyways, Life happens.
“How are you feeling now?” The doctor asked; he had come to check up on me.
“Better” I replied.
In few minutes I was discharged and my dad drove me back home.