The Goog Nooz Is...

What an eventful 12 days in hospital. Again.  This is getting old, right. I seem to have an annual appointment with this place and I'm not sure that I like how it's going to end.  From the moment you are wheeled into a ward, you want to get out of there. Of course, you appreciate the help you're getting, and you mainly want to survive. It would, however, be a lie to say that there are no other benefits to being there.  So, here are some t hings I miss about being in hospital:  1. Unnecessary tea at 4am. Yes. It broke the days perfectly for me.  2. No stubbed toes due to lack of bed legs.  3. No need to switch on the light to go to the bathroom at night. It's always daytime inside.  4. Being told to "just relax." Hehehe. Yessss. 5. Prepared meals (minus the terrible quality custard)  6. Smiles and giggles from strangers whose job was to stab me daily. Happily doing so too. 7. No bra. No wardrobe decisions.  8. No power cut. 9. Havi...

Night 10, morning 11. I'm beginning to love the smell of penicillin.  I have been graduated from high care to a general ward. I'm still in an isolation chamber. Which is just as well, because my fear of a secondary infection has materialised.  Last nig ht I was afraid to sleep because of two incidents involving a closed windpipe (how useless can a body be to constantly lock itself out of life?) I was sure that if I fell asleep for the night, Leandro, my 17-year-old pride and joy, would never be able to say "mom" ever again. I've said it before that it's not the thought of dying that bothers me, as frightening as I have since found that feeling out to be. What bothers me is leaving my son without me. I'm an unskilled parent, but my son knows me and I know him. I'm the only person who fully understands whether his little scowl is from a girl problem, or a gaming problem.  On night 10, it didn't help that I had the first uncouth night nurs...

I'm at Netcare Olivedale Hospital. My lungs and heart are playing games with me.  I don't like this game anymore.  Most days here are good. I have a stunning doctor. I'm usually able to clown around, make silly videos, and I have made friends with the nursing sisters.  People on Twitter have been supportive in different kinds of ways. I met some for the first time while in hospital. How sway? My son is alone at home, but hasn't gone hungry. (You know how teens would rather let their bodies dissolve before making food other than noodles.) Friendships have been strengthened by this experience. My dad, my awkward, black dad tells me he loves me, daily. He calls me. Daily.  People comment on how I don't look sick at all (it's the constant supply of pure oxygen, I tell you!)   So convinced that I look cool here. It's easy for someone else who's in the same situation I'm in, but who isn't dealing with things the same way, to judge themselves adversely...

It's day 5 at the hospital. I had to count that on my fingers. I don't know what time is, at this point.  I've had a C. T. scan, collapsed forearm veins. A misfire on vein flushing, plus donating a river of blood to the floor; a doctor whose voice might be better suited as an announcer at large crowd gatherings and the return of my very own doctor. Phew. Finally. Some real medical care. My doc ordered a cross section scan so that he can see in full 3D what's going on.  It's nasty. My ears are still ringing from that conversation, because it sounded to me like I'm walking by miracle. I don't like miracles. They're unstable. This is how the conversation went,  more or less.  Doctor: G, this is gonna be a long ride. I need one thing from you.  Me: Sure, doc. Anything.  Doc: I need you to relax and remain calm. I need time to fix this.  ••• My brain: Who's this? Does he know us? Does he have the authority to say this? 🧐 My spleen: Oh no. Oh no. I'm...