Home > True_story > My ailing, ‘kind-hearted’ self

My ailing, ‘kind-hearted’ self

I’ve had this awesome fiction story in my mind all week. Unfortunately when I put my fingers on the keyboard I just couldn’t bring it out the way I’d pictured it. It came out like a poorly acted Nigerian movie. So I decided to give it sometime. I might just get a revelation. In the meantime I will tell you about the highlights of the previous week. You see the best thing about blogging is that as long your eyes and ears are in good working condition, there’s always something trying to make its way into your blog.  There’s always a story trying to shape itself. I need my eyes and ears now more than ever. The only thing that would petrify me more than losing those would be ED. A man needs his tools.

So last Monday I woke up at 6:30am as usual, switched on my laptop, did some final touches on the week’s blog, published it, and then went back to bed. My alarm had gone off in the middle of a fascinating dream and I was hoping it would continue. Nah, not really. I was unwell. My chest was all congested, like I had been up all night smoking a packet of Rosta after another. I was whizzing like my lungs had formed a duet. For once I did not need to exaggerate when I called my boss to tell him that I would not be reporting to work. The way I sounded, he would have offered to call me an ambulance. Anyway, it was too early to go to hospital and I did not feel like I would die if I got one more hour of sleep.

I was surprised when I got to the hospital and the waiting room was deserted. I thought Mondays was the preferred day to fall sick. By show of hands, who has ever gone to the hospital on a Monday morning because a hangover was killing you?

A nurse led me to a small room where she took my blood pressure, temperature and weight. I wondered if all that had anything to do with a congested chest. I mean my lungs might have felt as heavy as cement bags but I was sure they had not gained that much weight. But what do I know? I only diagnose computers.

I was then ushered into the doctor’s room, and she welcomed me warmly. She literally did. As soon as I sat she asked me if it was my first time at that hospital branch. When I said it was, she said “Karibu sana.” It was a good gesture but I suppose there are places you don’t welcome people. It’s not like I was going there to have breakfast. It’s not any different from welcoming someone into a morgue. It’s the same as someone saying to you “Feel at home,” as you enter a morgue.

But she was nice. She did not seem like the kind of doctor that enjoys sticking needles into peoples’ behinds. She didn’t seem like the kind of doctor that would go on strike and let patients operate themselves. This one seemed like a modest doctor. She proceeded to ask me how I was feeling as she placed her stethoscope on my chest. That’s a doctor’s thing isn’t it? The same way a clergyman has to open his Bible while doing his thing. The same way teachers walk into class with a cane (it was obligatoryin my days). There’s probably a doctor who’s used a stethoscope on someone who walked in broken a leg.

Anyway she thought my condition was so bad I needed Nebulization. That scared me. It sounded like one of those excruciating procedures Dr. House enjoys doing. Like one of those procedures that involve being stabbed on the chest with a monstrous syringe. The doctor saw the fright on my face and she proceeded to inform me that it was just a simple procedure that would help decongest my chest. I wanted to ask her if it involved any blades or injections but I didn’t want to seem like a little sissy. So I nodded my head like I’m used to nebulization; like it’s what I do whenever I have free time. She called a nurse and asked her to prep me.

A few seconds later a nurse walked in and asked me follow her. She took me to a small room that had a bed and a chair. I wasn’t sure which one to take so I just stood there. She opened some drawers and the first thing she pulled out was a box written Resuscitator on the side. Now that scared me shitless! I didn’t care about seeming like a sissy anymore and I asked her if there’s a risk of me passing out during nebulization. I asked her if cardiac arrest was one of the side effects of this treatment. And she laughed and told me the box wasn’t for me. I think she’d done that intentionally just to see if I’d wet my pants. Miss mean nurse that was very unnecessary.

If I wasn’t gasping so badly I would have taken off. She asked me if it was the first time I was being nebulized. I told her I might have seen Dr. House do it on tv once but I wasn’t paying much attention. She laughed. She had an adorable laughter and I suppose her trainer had told her to use it more often to calm her patients. It was however not working for me. All I cared to know was whether someone was going to rip apart my chest.

You have no idea how relieved I was to learn that all the procedure involved was inhaling from a face mask attached to some device that administers some medicinal spray. It wasn’t half as bad as I had assumed. I even got to read some blogs while at it.

Nebulization helped. I felt like I could run a marathon. But I still had to wear a grim face since I needed a sick-off note. Madam Doctor was in a good mood and she wrote me a sick-note without fussing. Doctors do not have Monday blues do they? As long as no slum catches fire on a Monday, the day will be just like any other.

My chest took it’s time to heal. I was unwell for the better part of the week although my condition was improving by the day. I hope that is the last time I fall ill this year. You see this week ushers in the great month of December (and pay day as well!). I love this time of the year. Unless you are a goat or a chicken, you have all the reasons to look forward to this festive time. I wouldn’t want to fall sick while people are devouring ribs. And I wish you all sound health as we draw to the end of the year.

On another unrelated note, I picked up a phone at a restaurant near Wilson toward the end of last week. Someone had left an N96 on the couch. There’s no way I would fall ill again if I gave it back, I thought. Surely that act of kindness should at least atone me.  I’ve pissed Karma severally over the recent past and I thought that was my chance to set things straight. So I snooped in the messages and contacted a chick they’d been communicating that afternoon.

She told me she was at Hurlingham and she would come for the phone. An hour later she called me and when I went to meet her, she got out of the car and hugged me so excitedly you would think we were childhood friends. She couldn’t believe that I was giving back a lost phone and she went on to shower me with compliments. “I didn’t think angels still exist….”

I started feeling like she was talking about another person. I’m not that nice. I highly doubt my friends would describe me as a cordial person. Stealing might not be my area of expertise but I sure as hell got my bagful of ugly traits. I wanted to let her know that I’m not as righteous as she had assumed so I told her I’d snooped in the messages. She blushed a little then said it was the smart thing to do since I was able to decide whom to contact. I gave up. I decided to go with the notion that maybe I’m not such a scoundrel after all. She took out her purse and handed me a five hundred shilling note. Of course I was like “you don’t have to,” as I snatched it. The owner of the phone never called to express his gratitude but I hope he was kind enough to refund her.

She asked me if I was in a hurry to go back to work and I told her I could spare a few minutes for a little chitchat. She was a bubbly, amiable lady. She told me she’s just completed a course in medicine and she is to be posted in Nyeri for her internship. She was not so amused about that. My old man is from Nyeri so I told her I could give her my grandma’s contacts so they can be hanging out.

I asked her if she’s passionate about medicine, and she told me it is what she wants to do. I’m always envious of people who have figured out what they were put on this world to do, and they do it passionately. I did computer science in campus. I should be fixing those computers like it’s the last thing I want to do. When I have nothing to do I should be disassembling my laptop and then reassembling it just for amusement. But I’m busy typing. Clearly I’m still a bit confused.

Categories: True_story Tags: , ,
  1. Anonymous
    November 28, 2011 at 9:01 am

    ha ha ha ati u could give her your grandmas contacts so they could be hanging out, nice one! smiling on a monday morning as usual 🙂

  2. Anonymous
    November 28, 2011 at 10:00 am

    lol….my Monday is already better!!!n FYI ur not the only one who is confused on the career path thingy…am contemplating farming,instead i shld not av wasted all that cash in naz,sio?nway thanx 4 brightening my monday!

  3. Rita Murugi
    November 28, 2011 at 10:04 am

    lol….my Monday is already better!!!n FYI ur not the only one who is confused on the career path thingy…am contemplating farming,instead i shld not av wasted all that cash in naz,sio?nway thanx 4 brightening my monday!

  4. thatguy
    November 28, 2011 at 11:07 am

    boss we know you…….

  5. Mkings
    November 28, 2011 at 11:26 am

    Ha haaaaa! i love.

  6. Linda
    November 28, 2011 at 8:25 pm

    LOL @ED…seriously dude…I think its overrated but hey am a woman 😉

  7. Linda
    November 28, 2011 at 8:35 pm

    I totally love today’s entry…haven’t had time these past weeks to read your stuff but dude, I will be sure to nebulize the blog every week 🙂 So thats what you were talking about when I called you to ask you to disassemble and reassemble my laptop for me just to see why its systems were all congested…hehehehehehe.
    Nice piece 🙂

  8. No 1 fan
    November 30, 2011 at 12:16 pm

    He he he he …u took the money?……….u cheap fella!!!

    • November 30, 2011 at 12:51 pm

      very funny! cheap price for recovering a lost phone…

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