The Goog Nooz Is...

  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...

  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,...

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...

1. Don't touch me too hard. Push me when it's needed, but know your power and control your anger. If you push me too hard I will bleed. Not from falling, but from your fingers being pressed a little too hard against my heart's skin.  I have known that heart disease comes with limitations, both physical and mental. It goes without saying that every chronic illness brings with it unspoken psychological strain. I thought of my dad's older brother who looks just like him. That man has suffered from gout for as long as I've known him. I met him when I was 8. I'm in my 40s now. I had my first experience with gout recently. I didn't want to believe it, until physical and chemical tests made it clear. The pain didn't care whether or not I was a believer. After confirmation, my friend François was my first thought. Then my uncle. Is this what this man had suffered all these years? There's no way that can be considered normal. I lasted a few hours before bring...

Medical fatigue.  No.  Ailment fatigue?  Treatment fatigue. I could come up with a term, look up a term or explain to you what I mean.  Alright. I've had enough of being prodded, propped up, hovered over,  pricked, examined and fussed over as a candidate for dear old death. Therefore, when my body acts up, which is happening right now, I measure whether I need to see any medical personnel (including pharmacists) based on my own mortality probability scale.  Ideally, one shouldn't go see a medic at every sound the body makes, but I'm particularly averse to seeing a medic at the moment because of the multiple hospital visits in the last few months.  So, I get on with this kangaroo court measurement system. It's really simple.  I make up the qualifying questions as I go.  Is it an infection? If so, is it likely to affect fluid build-up in my lungs? No? Then I stay put and hope it goes away.  Do I feel any discomfort and pain? Yes? Then I'll...

Okay. This is where I unpeel. I've dragged you into my journey with health. You cheer me on, but you're not 100% sure what's going on. So here's a laundry list with a timeliness. Hopefully it will make certain sense.    1. Buckle up.   2006 - Pregnancy. Hypertension. Snoring. Acid reflux. 2007 onwards - Getting higher doses of hypertension medications and being told to lose weight. Medical apathy. 2018 - Iron deficiency started showing up. I was not aware, until later.  mid-2019 - Breathing difficulties manifest at odd times. Started on steroids. Important to remember.  2019 - Enlarged heart detected. 2029 (Dec) - Personal paranoia about SARSCOV2 hits high inside me. Causing me to be a hermit ahead of the lockdown. Feb 2020 - Asthma diagnosis. Fear of COVID19 contraction escalates. March 2020 - The cardiomegaly continues (fancy way of saying, “Your heart's too big and not in a good way.) 2020 - Partaking in the collective insanity. 2021 August - Vaccinated again...