As a sharp boy, I visited the local Chemist, got the first anti-malarial I saw and thought that would be all. The malaria would soon flee and I would be back to normal and all… I was a joker. I soon found out that the malaria parasite didn’t die. So I went to yet another chemist and got another brand of anti-malarial this time the tin mus go. So I thought…
Days were already turning into weeks and November ended on a slow note. I completed my novel before the end of the month and sent it out for editing. Paito Vic is the only one that has actually sent back his edited version. Problem is I dunno how to separate his edits. Now, I have to wait on Roland Akpe and Seun Odukoya to send in their edited version so I can reread and hopefully rewrite with more depth.
Ah, but I digress, what was I feting you to? Yes, my malaria adventure. After the second anti-malarial which took five days, (I hate drugs so for me to have completed the dosage…) I found that I had a relapse of said sickness. The damned thing was in love with me and wouldn’t divorce me. So I cried out for help. I know some medical students…
@ms_seunn ran away, her claim, I’m just a med student, I freed her. @cycatrx and @rysk2krys were absolutely no help. They are both doing their housemanship buh Saka said I should go look for a lady to lay, imagine that. Malaria, sex, where’s the correlation? Chris just laughed and stalked off. No help.
Then I spoke to trustee @dehorl, she prescribes coartem. @r_oyetola also did his bit. He acted as doctor and nurse both. I understand why he wants to be a gynecologist.
After brainstorming on twitter, bbm and whatsapp, I was kinda sceptical to use any anti-malarial. Until I spoke to a real doctor in church and he also mentioned coartem. So I went to the pharmacy and got the drug. This was definitely it, I thought. We were already a week into December.
I finished the dosage, felt relieved for a few days and bam, it was back with a vengeance. So I got angry, no more drugs, ahn ahn wetin, na onle me one malaria dey see oppress?
It didn’t take long; my sister noticed the appreciable decline in my visage. I was dehydrated and losing weight by the second. She started making noise so to silence her; I went to the hospital on the 25th. Yes, December 25th, when everyone was looking for Christmas chicken, I was busy looking for a doctor to diagnose me, and maybe stick it to me (pun intended).
I went to Surulere General Hospital after discovering that Medilag was open to emergency cases only. SGH also formed same activity but allowed us see the doctor on call. I was given tests. I went to the lab the man signs and said come back in two days’ time. I collected all my documents bid the place goodbye.
Boxing day and I really wanted out of sickness, so I pinged Bella. She asked me to come to her house. Waited for me to no end, my sister decided to drive me down, wondered why I had to go so far to get medical aid, so she stopped at the first hospital. What happened there, lemme take a sip of water.
Ah, where was I? Okay, in my delirious state, my already complicated mind had found a place for a tryst with Bella, it didn’t happen as my sister dumped me at another hospital. I pinged her, she was crushed, made like it was nothing, and she stopped pinging me, for few hours. My punishment.
At the hospital, the doctor consulted well, she assured me I did not have typhoid which I liked as a culprit. A few brouhaha on money and billing later (I won’t bore y’all with those), I was upstairs in the hospital, been prepped for drip (whatever the medical name). The nurses took my blood I swear, it was almost two buckets full ask my sister Bisola.
Then the drip went in, and my body temperature that was somewhere in the air started coming to earth. The doctor meanwhile with all those blood she had collected was doing a battery of tests. She came back three and half hours later (I entered the upper room around 2pm), and declared: ‘your blood is packed full of malaria parasite.’
In a way, that was good news, did I mention that I was delirious? Yes, my mind was taking me to all sorts of crazy places. On the flip, I was heartbroken. After all those drugs, I was still peddling the parasite. She told me I could go once my drip finished.
So the drip finished and I went home, after collecting the prescription for the sickness. The drug I was given (Quinine) was a low level slow acting anti-malarial. My sister wouldn’t allow me peace to hear my mind speak, which was a blessing sometimes. All the thoughts in my head were about death; suicide; depression. I wrote ‘Just Before I Pull the Trigger’ in that state days before seeing the doctor.
Religiously, I used the drugs. Even when I didn’t have the appetite for food, I bought juice, something to boost my body and used the drugs. I finished the drugs. I could feel it in my bones that the malaria was gone. But there was a simple snag I hadn’t counted on, and it bit me in the arse and all over the body. It was cold.
Ok, so how do you treat cold? This wasn’t your primary school cold oh! It was the kinda cold that got a grown arse man like me shivering like leaf. My teeth gritted of their own accord and my body was thrown into spasms. Yes, that bad! To top it all, my temperature had turned superman and taken to the skies.
Round 2: So Bisola notices that the troubler of the house was calm and subdued, she watched me for a few and started harking. Dude, that malaria neva leave your body. I told you not to use those whack drugs and yada yada…
Long story short, I went back to the general Hospital. Did the test prescribed for me in december last, and the result came out normal. Not a hint of malaria. I should jump and start dancing right? Nope. I was battling that biting cold and the lady doctor (strangely, all the doctors I saw were ladies), decides she’d stick me with injections.
Of course, as she predicted, the injections worked but there was a vital ingredient missing. And I had missed out on this ingredient all through the months, which was why the sickness persisted. I completed my injection dose and then mum, who had been monitoring my progress from afar asks me to come meet her at my younger sister’s.
I get there, she takes one look at me and said, ‘dude, you’re going to Ibafo.’ I didn’t have the strength to argue, so I sat still and when she was ready for me, she brought me home. And there, I learned an invaluable lesson.
We get to Ibafo on saturday evening, and mom plied me with everything, fruits, juice, food, even some spices she had to show me her palm as a motivator to chew. I took everything in. The next day’s Sunday, she’s a Pastor, so I’ll get some slack, I hoped. Nah!
Before church I had my food ready and waiting for me. I dunno about you buh my mum’s the kind of mother who watches over her kids like hawks. The flip side is if you failed to do complete the task she saddles you with, which mostly is eating and drinking, you got quick smacks you wonder if she’s Flash, in disguise.
Anyways, we go to church, she asked me to buy food somewhere, due to all the things I had consumed the previous night, I found I had rare appetite to eat, so I ate. Then we went home. And it started.
From 3p.m that we got home that day, every hour that passed, she made just one request to me: ‘would you like to eat/drink…’ I kept saying no, but at the end of the day, I found, I had eaten a whopping 6 times. Yes, 6! Mum fed me for Africa ni oo.
And with all the eating came a minuscule truth I had not confronted. My bad eating habits, coupled with my lack of appetite were the actual agents that wanted to whack me. Imagine that, food.
So I continued eating and got better, Ibafo is a terrible place to live right now, the harmattan and cold, biting. I got over the cold of Ibafo, found my eating mojo again, so if you see me asking for seconds, and then thirds, e fimile oo. My ambition now is to eat till I grow a paunch. :d
Maybe all those girls will stop eyeing me, maybe not. Anyways, I’m out of the wilderness of sick finally. I’m grateful to the Lord for preserving me, loads have passed for less. Hugs and kisses to mum. She lives in me :d.
Here’s a word of advice, if you do fall ill, please eat. Eat, eat, and eat some more. Damn your appetite, most times, they are just bad indicators. Here’s to perfect health.
Now, the regular schedule of write-ups should come with a staccato burst. Let’s see if I come back smoking… as they say.
PS: Inu ikoko dudu ni eko funfun ti jade. (I’m not translating, if you don’t speak or read Yoruba, too bad! :p)