The Minor of the Hospital Ward (II)

At the risk of coming up short, however lengthy the walk to the parking lot, he filled the callers in on his latest experience of malaria. It had necessitated his detention at the government-run specialist-teaching hospital. A slight headache had followed the mosquito bites inflicted on him during the usual night-time blackout when the noisy […]

At the risk of coming up short, however lengthy the walk to the parking lot, he filled the callers in on his latest experience of malaria. It had necessitated his detention at the government-run specialist-teaching hospital. A slight headache had followed the mosquito bites inflicted on him during the usual night-time blackout when the noisy insects drew their quarter of blood. A single dose of two APC tablets, taken on no doctor’s orders but out of the popular Nigerian belief of their efficacy, had failed “to do the trick” perhaps for being taken too late. Following a gradual rise in temperature, the young man lost interest in his food and in his book. He progressively began to feel ill.

As his health deteriorated, he felt a stiffening of the lower back and began to feel a pain in the neck. His condition continued to worsen. The malaria tablets he took afterwards-he abhorred the injection-were to no avail. He eventually began to feel delirious. The rise in temperature, the stiffening of the lower region of the vertebra, the throbbing headache-none of these symptoms of indisposition served as the starkest symbol of the deadly disease; rather it was the pain in the neck.

The gnawing pain symbolized for him a stump covered in blood. The image of decapitation that brought a film of sweat all over his body coincided with the kind of life that he was leading-that of a prisoner caught up in the prison of a world, in a maximum-security prison that was the world. His tongue had meanwhile lost its sense of taste, bringing it over to him that he needed to eat something sugary or salty to remove the bitter taste of disease from his mouth. The headache soon affected the roots of his hair; combing became a particular kind of torture. He wore his hair short, yet even that short was difficult for him to tidy up. Thus, lie found himself in a state of limbo. The weather was hot, yet a slight chill along with a feeling of drowsiness began to creep stealthily over him.

The victim found refuge in sleeping. He wouldn’t know when he fell off but would know instantly that he had been having a very long sleep whenever a noise (the children bringing him his food or just checking on their mother’s orders whether he had woken up) brought him hack to wakefulness. Often he remained awake long enough to pick at the food and throw it up, to hear the plaintive cry of a child beggar and hand the barely eaten food over and to try to determine whether the current prayer was due before he sank back into slumber.

The next thing he knew was that he found himself in a hospital bed. A drip was attached to his arm and an intern was injecting a colourless fluid into a water bottle suspended over the recumbent but slowly awakening newspaper journalist. He didn’t know what time it was; he still felt unwell. He brought the bottle into sharp focus in an effort to gauge how much of the liquid contents had flowed into his system.

Beginning at his head, he felt a dull headache. His eyelids felt heavy and his mouth tasted sour for having been neglected in the interregnal phase between its last full meal and its present stare of tastelessness. By the nature of his indisposition-there was his belly (he could feel its barely perceptible roar for food)-Ahmad considered his period of convalescence to be a fairly lengthy one. Nevertheless, the dull headache and stomach rumbles raised his spirits a little. The headache must be waning; the linings of the stomach must be getting ready to receive their usual quota of wholesome food.

For the patient, as he watched a young doctor record the injected fluid in a register, that incidence of normality could only be regained after all the body fluids he had lost to the long period of non-eating and non-drinking had been restored-restoration hopefully to be achieved along with the elimination of the malarial virus from his bloodstream. Recovery had been speedy. The instinct of mastication had been replaced with the mechanism of water transfusion.

 

*

He had recounted as much to the departing guests but not the newsy bit, which could have been received by the siblings at the risk of its being a passionate plea for philanthropy. His sister-in-law, Biyya, had spent the family budget to cover the hospital admission charges. The balance of the domiciliary account didn’t amount to much. It only paid for a bed in the crowded General Ward rather than a private “amenity” room, where all his meals would have been served-and Ahmad’s nephew saved from undertaking the long taxi ride, twice a day, to deliver food to his bedridden uncle. The bill nonetheless included charges for blood transfusion, which the doctor had assured the young man was safe. The blood had been tested and found clean before it was administered into him hours after his admission into the hospital.

The news of his hospitalization had travelled fast. It drew a deluge of callers. They had to go away with the keen disappointment of their failure to receive the benefit of an audience on account of Ahmad’s inability, which smacked of strict instructions left by the doctor, to regain consciousness and be in full possession of his faculties. His recovery from sedation had necessitated the observance of a short period of rest during which, as the doctor had explained, the malaria patient should be given the chance to regain his strength, collect his wits together and receive visitors without the risk of suffering from a break-down arising from the tedium of attending to too many well-wishers.

Kamal lives and writes from the ruburban Ungogo of Kano. 08065438300 [email protected]