Skip to main content

NEEDLES & OLIVES 4 - Extension

 1.


Comicon Africa! I've wanted to take my boy there, but I was previously unable to. For 2023 I bought our tickets the day they were made available. We're over the whole cosplay thing, but we were sure gonna go nuts on merch.

Solid. 

2.


Today is 23 September 2023. Day 2. Sold out! Everyone is there, including my son! I'm beaming with joy. 

It took several phone calls to make sure he gets a lift there, comes rain or shine. I was truly set to leave this hospital yesterday. I had my pen out, ready to sign discharge papers. But my lungs are making me pay for something. One day I'll find out. 

I was fully prepared to wake up this morning (23 September) and drive my boy to Comicon and drop him off. Sleep. Then pick him up. It was going to be my thing for him. 

The little man held down our fort for 9 whole days, on his own, with our trusty pitbull.

Things didn't work out in the dramatic mind-theatre way we tend to dream up. 





3.

In an isolation ward, in an attempt to keep new infections at bay, I'm forced to say it to myself that I'm not in control of everything. I need not be in control of everything. It's okay to sleep the whole day. 

A friend said this to me, "your epitaph is going to suck. Here lies Gugu, who worked herself to death." 

I miss chasing Lola around the yard, and playing tug-o-war with her. This dog thinks I exist to steal her toys from her and she loves it. She has no idea how large she is, so she body-slams me quite often and wants to lie on my chest. 

I can't breathe, but I love it. She brings me a great measure of joy. 

I miss Lola. I want her to snore like a truck at night and irritate me. I want her to wake me up to open the door so she can go pee. 

I just want my Lola. 


4.

I miss Television. Not the box, the work I do. I miss making a small difference in lives, bringing joy and conversation. I miss training the next generation of content bosses. I miss the drama. 

The fast pace has caught up with me, but I'm not ready to pause yet. I'll be back. 


5.

Internet strangers! We always know that there are some vile characters on social media. Folk who are out to cause chaos and rob others of their trust in humanity. 

I can safely say that those demons are a minority. 

The amount of support, conversation, and encouragement I have received from total strangers has made me a hopeful being. We're all people with the same challenges, just shaped in different ways. We all fear the same things. 

I'm not an island. I need people. I am happy that we can all be digital neighbours to each other and share a laugh over mundane things. 


6.

Am I leaving the hospital. Yes, certainly. When? 

It doesn't matter. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Not Without My Lola

  Activated charcoal, to bind the poison. Anti-parasite meds. Antibiotics.  Pain killers (on my request). A mineral drip. My baby is in hospital. I cannot see anything beyond Lola. Not yet anyway. She’s still 4 years old. We still have at least 10 more years, no? Her eyes are darting side to side. She’s not responding to anything, not even an ear massage. She’s just laying there, in her cage at the local vet hospital. Lola went from bouncing dog to a drooling mess. We couldn’t find her in the morning. She was discovered facing away from life, while seated on a muddy patch. She struggled to go into the house, and then still faced the wall when she got into my room. A five-minute drive to the vet felt like a mountainous train journey. The vet staff helped us get her to a doctor’s table and she was immediately taken to a “procedure room.” After the longest 30 minutes, it still needed to be clarified what the issue may be. But poisoning is the main suspect. We are in South Africa,...

Clean Girl

  Chapter 1 Fresh.  He always calls me ‘fresh’ and I like it. It makes me feel giddy inside. Giddy? Am I…? No, I don’t know what that feels like. I don’t know if this is it. I’m not sure if I can ask my favourite aunt when she visits. Nevermind, my great aunt is home, and I think this woman can hear my thoughts, so let me sit in front of the TV and watch whatever is there. Our life was very strict, food was always healthy, and having a clean body was viewed as being closer to God. Why did God create sweat if I couldn’t walk around in it? I wondered from a young age. At any rate, asking questions that seemed to question the faith was tantamount to purchasing your own ticket to Satan’s bedside. I don’t like Satan. He’s red and enjoys way too much fire.  We lived in a mixed household, a whole extended family in one place. Life was about piety, accompanied by endless hymns about a better life in another realm. We ate very little, as was required by wha...

Where Do I Belong?

The song of a cotton wool ball. Part of a big, fluffy ball I was. Floating about, enjoying my likeness to the clouds. A small fluffy ball I became, Independent of the joys and fears Of this big blue world.  You could call me Cottononimbus. A grasp. A rip. A hurl! What cruelty has seen me so hurt? A sea of red now forms a part on my snow-white being,  Tarnishing my purity like the sins of a priest.  I am a cotton wool mass. Everyone uses me to remove the tiniest bit of mess. Then leaves me to form my own mess. My friends the needles, plasters, catheters and other medical supply heroes have their own bins.  Everyone. Everyone but me.  Do I smell? Am I not good enough for any bin? Even the municipal bin? Am I hated more than a syringe? So let it be.  Atop the surfaces I shall quietly sit.  Disease I shall slowly spread. Until someone tells me Where I belong. This prose stems from noticing how after each skin prick, there's a random cotton wool ball that r...