The Goog Nooz Is...

"Okay, ma'am, you're going to roll over from your bed onto the operating table."  "Roll over? Is it because I'm round?" Crickets. No one appreciated my fat joke, so it was only common sense to double down and make an even worse joke. Slapstick; crawl over to the next bed kind of joke.  Tough crowd at the theatre. Was it because I'm genuinely not funny? Were they experiencing secondhand embarrassment as I fumbled my whole schtick? Or were they nervous due to my physician's cumulonimbostratus flavoured, catastrophic report of my health and how I could die any time during surgery.  I went with the latter.  This procedure was never something that I thought would be dealt with so swiftly, by a virtual stranger. See, I had previously entrusted my whole reproductive system to a person who found it easy to say that my pain is normal. Someone I had to see more times than one usually sees this type of physician. She gave up on me and my pesky p...

She's got the prettiest smile, two giant incisors, and dimples that could suck out all the negative energy from the world. She's beautiful to look at.  She's a princess. She's two years old.  I have more of these. One is three years old. Why then did I think I could leave that behind?  He's gorgeous. Taller than me. Eyes that can end wars and the softest shag of hair you can ever find on a boy. His 19-year-old, bright eyes look to me for protection against the world's demands. Who did I think I would leave that for? How could I think it would be acceptable to turn those eyes red and break that heart into a million shards? I look like her. Others still think we are sisters. We giggle at the very sight of each other. There is never a silent moment when we're together. She has a heart of gold, and I'm jealous because I share her with the world, but I'm also proud that I share her with the world. I am the beginning of her reproductive energy....

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...

Let your guard down. You're allowed to show signs of strain. It's okay not to be okay.  All words that I held in contempt for some time in my elderly youth (30s). Then I experienced a shift and I love it.  I now pride myself in being a soft, chewy-centered person who openly cries with and for others.  I pride myself in allowing the rain in and letting my feet stand in stagnant water while I becry my minor inconveniences. I refuse to be a ‘mbokodo.’ I am not a strong black woman, I'm a soft marshmallow baby.  With frequent hospital visits, due to a dramatic heart, I have had many opportunities to lay my spirit at the feet of friends and loved ones who just want to make me smile. I have gone through my own walls to allow myself to be shown love. Still believing that I don't deserve that much affection, I downplay my pains. Something that even my doctor commented on. It's been two months since I was in hospital, and now I'm here again. It is taxing. I've found ...