So I broke down again
I
have the sickle cell genes. It is engraved on my mind. I remember every second
but sometimes, infact most of the time I see it as nothing. I hardly consider
it a limitation, I also cannot stand pity and so I never indulge in self pity.
I am down only when the crisis comes and I am in pains. I can't stand being helpless;
I can't stand being in pain. I love being in control and so when things happen
and I can’t control it, I sometimes break down like I did tonight.
I travelled to the UK recently and spent quite some time walking. With each step, I felt pains in my leg. I have a high threshold and as such I endured the pain well. The day after I returned back home to Nigeria, my mum sent me to see the doctor which I did. I and the doctor spent more time gisting than talking about my leg. However, the doctor said I was fine, prescribed some strong antibiotics and off I went back home with more drugs to swallow. Ask any sickle cell patient, we are most times always high on drugs.
Two days later, my mum insists I apply a powder which I obediently applied and then split! the leg opens up showing white tissue.... I hate to look at it and its my leg (sobs again) She dressed it for me and we conclude that I would have to go to the hospital again on Friday evening or Saturday morning as I would be working during the week.
Its Wednesday evening and I come back tired and with a slight ache in the legs which i dismiss till I peel off the dressing and my ankle looks like a gaping hole. My mum in typical Yoruba fashion reties her wrapper and claps her hand together praying to God for healing for her daughter's leg and then runs off to call my father. He places a call to my brother a medical doctor and explains what the situation is. All I hear is Leg ulcer, general hospital, see a specialist and all this words begin to whirl around in my head and the tears come after as the floodgates open and I begin to whimper and cry.
I am tired! I am tired!! I am tired!!! I am now curled up in my younger sister’s arm crying softly. Once I start, I find it hard to stop. I want to start asking questions... God for how long? Why am I the one with sickle cell? Am I going to overcome this? Would my leg be amputated? (God forbid) what would happen this time around? In the midst of my sobbing and brooding, I hear my father's voice.
Why do you take things for granted? Why did you not complain in the UK about your leg? Why this and that? I stand up and race to my bedroom furious. It’s his fault, he is educated, and why on earth did he not find out his genotype before settling down with my mother. Why did he not put a stop to two kids? No he went ahead and now my younger sister and I are suffering the consequences while he lives a crises free life. We live with Paludrine and folic acid as our best friend not to talk of Tramadol, Diclofenac and a host of other drugs that are now part of everyday life... Yes that's what we endure.
My kid sister joins me in the room and I start the "Is it not their fault conversation" with her while I google leg ulcer on my laptop. A very current toaster who calls every night for about an hour from the UK keeps calling but I cannot pick my call as my nose is running and I am not in the mood to talk. My sister answers the call and shortly after my current (I don’t know what to call him) calls. I think Boyfriend would be the word even though our relationship is really complicated (story for another day) I pick the call this time around and already planned to say a brisk goodnight and get on with my leg ulcer research.
However, he senses I am crying and I start to whine. Why I whine when talking to him is beyond me. Maybe he just has this calm collected behaviour that compulsively brings out the drama queen in me. He refuses to agree with my conversation on whose fault it is that I have SCD. Instead, he calmly tells me to look at the solution and not point fingers when faced with a problem. I whine, he calms me down and then asks me to switch off my laptop. I don't know how it worked but yes I switched off my laptop and laid back down in bed. He said lots of things but I remember "did you create yourself? Can you heal yourself, why not tell your maker, rest your mind and see the doctor tomorrow. It wasn't just about what he said; it was the way he said it.
I obeyed him and soon drifted off to sleep. I wish parents could learn to be more tolerant and more understanding. It’s bad enough you are the reason I have this disease so why can’t you learn to handle the situation. My parents would never have handled it like he did. I think there should be a school for learning how to be a parent! After all there is finishing school, where you can learn to be a lady, so yeah there should be a school for learning to be a parent! Yes the both of them have been fantastic in their own ways but then again they are so flawed and it is so upsetting as well.
It’s a brand new day. I would be going to the hospital first before venturing to my office. I am still nervous, still afraid of the unknown but I remember I did not create myself and my maker's thoughts towards me are good and not evil to bring me to an expected end. I hope the end would indeed be my expected end (instant cure to this problem) I will be fine. Chin up I am a survivor and a great one at that!!
I travelled to the UK recently and spent quite some time walking. With each step, I felt pains in my leg. I have a high threshold and as such I endured the pain well. The day after I returned back home to Nigeria, my mum sent me to see the doctor which I did. I and the doctor spent more time gisting than talking about my leg. However, the doctor said I was fine, prescribed some strong antibiotics and off I went back home with more drugs to swallow. Ask any sickle cell patient, we are most times always high on drugs.
Two days later, my mum insists I apply a powder which I obediently applied and then split! the leg opens up showing white tissue.... I hate to look at it and its my leg (sobs again) She dressed it for me and we conclude that I would have to go to the hospital again on Friday evening or Saturday morning as I would be working during the week.
Its Wednesday evening and I come back tired and with a slight ache in the legs which i dismiss till I peel off the dressing and my ankle looks like a gaping hole. My mum in typical Yoruba fashion reties her wrapper and claps her hand together praying to God for healing for her daughter's leg and then runs off to call my father. He places a call to my brother a medical doctor and explains what the situation is. All I hear is Leg ulcer, general hospital, see a specialist and all this words begin to whirl around in my head and the tears come after as the floodgates open and I begin to whimper and cry.
I am tired! I am tired!! I am tired!!! I am now curled up in my younger sister’s arm crying softly. Once I start, I find it hard to stop. I want to start asking questions... God for how long? Why am I the one with sickle cell? Am I going to overcome this? Would my leg be amputated? (God forbid) what would happen this time around? In the midst of my sobbing and brooding, I hear my father's voice.
Why do you take things for granted? Why did you not complain in the UK about your leg? Why this and that? I stand up and race to my bedroom furious. It’s his fault, he is educated, and why on earth did he not find out his genotype before settling down with my mother. Why did he not put a stop to two kids? No he went ahead and now my younger sister and I are suffering the consequences while he lives a crises free life. We live with Paludrine and folic acid as our best friend not to talk of Tramadol, Diclofenac and a host of other drugs that are now part of everyday life... Yes that's what we endure.
My kid sister joins me in the room and I start the "Is it not their fault conversation" with her while I google leg ulcer on my laptop. A very current toaster who calls every night for about an hour from the UK keeps calling but I cannot pick my call as my nose is running and I am not in the mood to talk. My sister answers the call and shortly after my current (I don’t know what to call him) calls. I think Boyfriend would be the word even though our relationship is really complicated (story for another day) I pick the call this time around and already planned to say a brisk goodnight and get on with my leg ulcer research.
However, he senses I am crying and I start to whine. Why I whine when talking to him is beyond me. Maybe he just has this calm collected behaviour that compulsively brings out the drama queen in me. He refuses to agree with my conversation on whose fault it is that I have SCD. Instead, he calmly tells me to look at the solution and not point fingers when faced with a problem. I whine, he calms me down and then asks me to switch off my laptop. I don't know how it worked but yes I switched off my laptop and laid back down in bed. He said lots of things but I remember "did you create yourself? Can you heal yourself, why not tell your maker, rest your mind and see the doctor tomorrow. It wasn't just about what he said; it was the way he said it.
I obeyed him and soon drifted off to sleep. I wish parents could learn to be more tolerant and more understanding. It’s bad enough you are the reason I have this disease so why can’t you learn to handle the situation. My parents would never have handled it like he did. I think there should be a school for learning how to be a parent! After all there is finishing school, where you can learn to be a lady, so yeah there should be a school for learning to be a parent! Yes the both of them have been fantastic in their own ways but then again they are so flawed and it is so upsetting as well.
It’s a brand new day. I would be going to the hospital first before venturing to my office. I am still nervous, still afraid of the unknown but I remember I did not create myself and my maker's thoughts towards me are good and not evil to bring me to an expected end. I hope the end would indeed be my expected end (instant cure to this problem) I will be fine. Chin up I am a survivor and a great one at that!!
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