Monday, July 20, 2009

*%$#@*&

I never expected it. Who hasn't had a fever and felt they were going to die, but not surprisingly, never really got there?
There had been a similar situation when I was 12. I thought I was going to die before my 13th birthday, or in all probability, on it. Nothing I'd eat stayed in. When my friends came to see me, I thought it might be the last time I saw them. I think I was laughed at when I voiced my concerns. Thankfully, I lived and learnt that it was "simply" a bad case of viral tummy infection.
This time it was worse. I was freezing, but it might have been the air-con. That really didn't explain the incontrollable rigeurs, splitting headache and weeping eyes. I don't like to cry in company, so every time someone looked at me quizzically I had to say "bad cold, watery eyes".
It went on for a couple of days after which I was admitted to the hospital. This was the most insane decision I thought my friend had made. I instantly felt fine as soon as the "admitted" word was mouthed. Slight fever, may be, but nothing a popped pill wouldn't help.
Still, it turned out to be my worst nightmare. I kept my friend awake for most of the night, screaming obscenities at no-one in particular and hospitals in general. I took about 5-6 jabs that night and they must have stolen a litre of my blood. Oh the pain, the agony! One of the jabs I bravely bore, silently, was administered "as a test", to see my reaction to the anti-biotics. I should have screamed my lungs out.
Two days later my left hand had mutated to accommodate a bucket of fluid just beyond my thumb. Bloody drips. It didn't stop there, no. They just squeezed, yes, squeezed out half my blood and shoved another needle into the other hand. The audacity of medical operations.
My mother finally arrived four days into my hospital stay. By then I was bored to death and the only words that came out of my mouth were: "I'm fine. I want to go home." No one listened.
Mum mainly cooked and told me what to do - how out-of-shape my house was, how she couldn't imagine the pig sty we lived in was actually something we lived in. She talked about recipes and what to cook, how to stay healthy and what to drink. The usual stuff mothers talked about.
Maybe it was mum's luck. After days of sucking on my blood for purely (so I would like to believe) sadistic purposes, they finally told me I had typhoid. Fine. So let me get over and done with it. I spent hours roaming the hospital corridors in the hope that the nurses would observe my perfectly healthy condition and kick me out without second thought. But they left me jailed for the rest of the week.
I was so happy to breathe fresh, clean, non-disinfected air. Aaahh. Wonderful. I'm never going back to hospital again. That's for sick people. I hadn't been there since I was born and I can't believe I went there and came out alive.
Anyway, for the record. My friend, constantly the victim of my discontented whining, thank you for braving the gross violation of conduct on my part and still staying my friend. Thanks (and no thanks) for the ride to the hospital in the middle of the night.
Everyone who visited me, brought food and kept me company (whether I was awake or not!): thanks a million. Much appreciated.
Doctors, nurses and staff of the hospital: How could you???? But well, I owe you.
Canteen: Gosh you suck.

1 comment:

Ayesha said...

Aww Dielle, I'm so sorry. That had to suck. But I'm glad you're better now. Put a picture up on facebook so we can be sure :)