There is nothing in this life. I am just sitting here wondering why I made such mighty fusses over the things I fussed over. One minute, I am sulking and planning my grand tantrum because I was refused money for clothes. I was not even refused, I was told ‘not now’. The next minute I had my daddy’s arms around my shoulder and I am dragging him to the car. My elder sister is barking orders and my mother is driving like she is in a car race and we are headed to the hospital.
They called it a cerebrovascular accident. I scoffed. Accident? Did a car hit him? Did he hit a car? He was fine then he realized he could not move the right side of his body and you are telling me something something accident.
The senior registrar told me ‘you should be explaining all this to your mom now, you are one of us. You know all these things’.
No, I do not. I know it is in the textbooks. I know I have read about it but it is my daddy lying down on the bed. It is my daddy who cannot move. I am sorry but I do not know. I will keep on shouting at the nurses and anybody else I perceive as slightly incompetent. It is my daddy lying down on that hospital bed.
I always said it. I never acted it. I did but not towards my daddy I guess, I should have given him the flowers when he could still smell them. I should have thrown tantrums for money left and told him how I think he is a super hero. Training seven children in this economy is no joke. Adding two extra to that is even less funny. Yet, I have the best of everything. He gives his life work to us his children and now he cannot move his right side.
My friends came around yesterday. I love them for it. I could see the slight irritation on their faces when I would not let them into my dad’s side room. What did they want to greet him for? They never came to greet him all this when he was well. Now this happened and they all want to greet. I cannot let them see him. I cannot let them see my daddy vulnerable. And weak. And confused. I cannot let them see my father helpless and stripped of all his dignity.
That is another reason why I hate sickness; there is nothing dignified in it. You are fed and bathed and you poop yourself.
I am so tired.
P:s : first my big sister.
Now my daddy.
I hate this year.
Photo credits: Ball addict