The Goog Nooz Is...

Feeling responsible to my corporate duties, even the senseless ones like being compelled to be at the office on Mondays and Fridays. I picked up germs. Yay! Team Work. Okay, so this is what happened.  I've been coughing since Tuesday evening.  By Friday I was struggling to breathe after every bit of activity. I looked at my dog and ran out of breath. At some point I napped then woke up gasping for air. I reached out for the CPAP machine (it pushes air into my lungs.) This helped a bit, but I'm soon in panic and I hyperventilate. Eventually I calm down and decide that it's time to go to the ER. Went to the kitchen and made supper for my son because motherhood comes with a bit of insanity. I knew I wouldn't eat because I had no appetite, plus I was actively dying, so that's kinda wasteful. But I made the crispiest potato wedges. I miss them.  Once done, I called Leandro and told him that I'm off to hospital and blah blah fishpaste. The first thing he says is, ...

Someone I love asked me this, yesterday, "Whenever you go into hospital, don't you ever feel afraid that you won't come home?" I paused for a moment, to unveil my core and respond truthfully. I said to him, "Every single time! Every time, I feel very afraid. I really try to shield myself from that fear, but it's there all the time."  There have been times this year when my Dr has said that I need to be admitted and I've said, "Absolutely not, ma'am. You need to find another way to help me."  So, when I have gone to hospital, it has always been because things are quite catastrophic. I am afraid of leaving my son behind. I'm not afraid of death itself. I am just afraid of my son being orphaned. The most amazing thing that we have been furnished with is humour. It is the ability to laugh through situations that should be frying our hearts. I've been very fortunate to be able to tap into that humour, and not only make my...

I am not the same person you remember.  I laugh the same way, I'm still afraid of sneezes, I still giggle unnecessarily.  But my light has been dimmed. I am not the same person you remember.  I have not spoken to you in a while.  You probably have not seen me in a while.  Maybe I have said "no" to one too many of your invitations. Forgive me. I have since lost a large piece of my hope pie.  I have since broken my literal heart. I have since lost a piece of my confidence. I am not the same person you remember.  "Get well" and "We love you" messages have become my staple.  As life goes on and I decelerate, I find less joy in waking up.  As people display their affection with human touch, I find that my reciprocal affection has been replaced by fear of contamination.  So strong is the fear, that even on my brightest day, I often prefer the company of my furry friend to loved ones.  Yes, I still love you, but... I am not the...

I suspected that this would be my last opportunity to hold her close to me. The scene was less than ideal. She needed to relieve herself. Robbed of her youthful agility by a stroke ten years prior, and further incapacitated by deep grief from losing all her younger siblings, she was unable to help herself up, let alone walk to a latrine. I had learnt to lift her to her feet in a way that does not hurt her tender areas. I always dreaded the idea of other people performing this task on her. I always felt that others lacked the deep empathy I felt for her. She was my mother after all. She gave birth to my mother but was my mother herself. She was always "ma" and never "gogo." On this day, she seemed helpless. Succumbing to death's inescapable call was almost certain. A grey pall had fallen over her usually butter-yellow skin, reflecting the curtains of the deep hollows she would soon descend to, on the back of that age-old enemy, death. 

Could this life thing hurry up and wrap it up already. I've obviously overstayed my welcome, I get it.  At some point a semblance of normalcy has to rear its head. I have to wake up and endure traffic, office banter, politics and loadshedding like everyone else. I'd rather enjoy those things, than endure being in a body that relays its hatred towards me every 2 weeks. Essentially deeming me a hermitress. Where was the need for an endometriosis diagnosis? Why am I now defending myself against low blood sugar? Will I ever be worthy of having the right amount of oxygen in my bloodstream? Should my heart be labelled as failed when it was doing its best to help the lungs. Excuse me, sir... ma'am Life, what can I do to free myself from your maze? In this damp cave that you've placed me in, is there a crossroads where I can choose to go to the left or the right? I'll take full responsibility of the outcome, but the journey and the sights and sounds throughout it are yours ...

1. Get up. Take a shower, and show up wholeheartedly.  That was how I planned to start the first day of work. My employer has been kind enough when it comes to my regular absence due to lung health issues. I was going to go the extra 5 miles, in appreciation. They wouldn't see or feel my extra exertion, but I was determined to prove my appreciation. When the day came, I indeed took a shower and showed up. Yes, I was working from home, but I felt the need to go through the same motions the other colleagues who go to the office went through. Silent solidarity.  I have no clue why I do such things. Sometimes I laugh at myself and remind myself that no one sees my private theatrical actions.  They make me happy, the said dramatic actions. I feel useful like I'm earning my place in the world. Doing my bit.  Onwards. 

   1.   “What’s actually wrong with you?” It takes time and a measure of courage for a person to ask this. How do I know? If the conversation is in person, the pitch of the voice goes higher, and the volume lowers. I almost want to respond with, “Why are we whispering, Barbie?” How rude that would be!   Most people ask because they genuinely care and want to know how they can help, even if it turns out that they can’t do anything at all. Some people are just curious, and that’s okay too. We’re hardwired to want to know about each other. A few mongers simply want to spread “the news” to any and everyone who will validate their craving for being labelled “the one who knows.” We all have that aunt/cousin/colleague. Then there’s that one cousin of mine, bless her soul, who reminds me every time I fall sick that it’s because of the COVID vaccine. She’s relentless. She once said, and I kid you not, “Gugs, you’ve been fat your whole life. So why are you ...