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the art of being Home – Hospital

E don dey look like this na the last in my chronicles of the art of being Home – number 5 in this series. I think I’ve milked enough from these past weeks, the rest are under lock & key . . . at least till further notice. You can read the previous ones here, here, here and here.

The devil is a liar! So before I travelled back home, on my way back from visiting with a friend, I suddenly felt feverish, sorta ill. As I usually do, I just thought, “I’ll sleep this one off.” That’s my usual – I just ignore the sickness till it’s permanently ignored. Everyone (thing) likes attention na! Mschew! I tried to sleep but couldn’t, so I handed myself over to my mum for medical diagnosis. If you’re Nigerian, you’ll know that all Nigerian mums, at least like mine, are self-taught medical doctors!! She quickly diagnosed malaria. And I was like, “I haven’t even seen mosquitoes in my room.” My mama no gree oh. Well, even though I said No, she sneakily went out to the pharmacy and bought antibiotics and pain relief.

I odeshi’d the illness till Wednesday night after an evening worship service where the illness temporarily vacated – maybe I should have slept in the church, it might have permanently disappeared. Anyway, by night time, no sleep, head banging, much fever – I closed my windows + turned off fan + covered myself. I knew things were amiss, doing all three in the Nigerian heat which does not know cool night-times.

As my mother’s daughter that I am, when I’d had enough, I went to her room to lie next to her and she immediately called a local taxi guy to take us to the hospital around 5 am. My blood was taken and replaced by injections through my vein. I had to carry the needle in my hand till the next day and bathe with one hand.


Men, if you find a woman that can manage with one hand, you better marry her or you’ve dulled! Bathing with one hand made me realise how adaptable I am + how much good health means! Guess what?! My mum offered to bathe me. Haba! Ep me so much, Madam Director!

Anyway tests showed malaria parasites had infiltrated my blood + infection because my lym@~%^($” – whatever, was low! I told the doctor I didn’t sleep with mosquito nets because I haven’t seen/heard any. Apparently I’d dulled because Ago mosquitoes now have silencer in their wings that makes them bite you without you hearing when they fly past!

I remember walking into the hospital with my mum on our second visit and the nurse said, “Madam, welcome oh! Long time no see.” In my head, I was like, “get thee behind me!“;  “is something wrong with you?“;  “me sef, I don’t want to see you“;   “I rebuke you!“.

So my hand and behind were fired with enough injections for 3 days for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We just hired a taxi or keke to take me to and from the hospital which was better and cheaper than being admitted. Heaven forbid!

One time, the nurse gave me an injection, I felt it in my mouth! Ah ah, na so e dey travel – back to front!! I was like you people should invent injections that are not this painful na! Haba! After how many years of malaria running its thing! Una no clever pass?! This was my face after . . . no dulling

But thank GOD that all is well. Your dear blogger/acquaintance/friend/sister/daughter, has made a full recovery and can almost lie on her left side without much pain (. . . you might need revelation to get that!)

I shaa know I’m not called to be a doctor. One look at the needle and I closed my eyes till it was over! It was like: Surprise! Injections!! . . .lol

I honestly do appreciate good health more, even though this wasn’t severe. Thank GOD it happened while I was still Home and not home. I wonder if NHS will have malaria medication #justthinking

To your good health, . . .

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