Bed No. 5

   101    
8

Tequila. That’s how it starts. And that’s how I end up in hospital. Two Thursdays ago I attended a Mexican Gastronomical shindig at the Intercontinental. Tequilas flowed. Now, I’m not normally your suave tequila gobbling urbanite, I try to give such drinks a decent berth, but heck it was a beautiful evening and our table was full of the interesting types who were flowing with it and besides it was a Thursday, the new Friday. So I downed a few, licked enough salt to cause me hypertension and sucked on lemon wedges.

The pains started that night, right at the bottom of my esophagus. Whenever I swallowed it felt like someone was screwing a rusty nail in my gut. The next morning we were headed to shags, a 6hr drive into the bowels of Nyanza. Of course I couldn’t hack the drive so my bro stepped in and saved the day. I slept.

Saturday: while showing off the scenery to some pal of mine who was visiting my shags for the first time, we pulled over at some boma and there I asked some kids to pluck some raw mangos for me for Ksh 20. I love me some raw mangos. I took three and again, licked enough salt to cause hypertension. Come Sunday morning and I couldn’t eat, heck I couldn’t even drink water. The pain was worsening. On our way back to Nairobi, I was a man in excruciating pain. My wiseass brother figured it was ulcers. My pal figured it was all that salt. My mom felt it was “all that alcohol you guys drink”. Everybody is a doctor where I come from. Quacks.

“You have pancreatitis,” this young-ass trainee doctor announced that evening at Aga Khan Hospital, sorry, make that University. I could have sworn he had googled that diagnosis.

“How do you figure?” I asked him.

“Because certain enzymes have increased in your blood,”

“Look, it could be anything; it could be Meningitis or something.”

“Do you have a stiff neck?”

“No, but my foot is itching.”

“Then it’s not Meningitis.”

“Trypanosomiasis maybe?”

“What?”

“Ok, mad cow disease then, I’m just from shags man and we have many cows.”

“Your pancreas has a problem sir.”

 

Now the last guy I know who had pancreatitis is dead. I was screwed. I was given drugs and sent home to die. At night the pain got worse. Next day –Monday – I was back at the University demanding a second opinion. I wanted to see a real doctor, perhaps someone older than me by about 40years and didn’t know what google was. I couldn’t pass food down my throat, heck I couldn’t even drink water without feeling like I was going to pass out. One specialist showed up, looked at my lab test results and said, “We gotta admit you son,” Turns out I didn’t have pancreatitis (or mad cow disease) my esophagus had a problem but further tests would reveal what. That Monday evening, I was admitted on first floor, bed 5. First time as an overnight guest of a hospital. And for the next three nights I was cooped in the ward.

Let me shatter certain myths here. There are no sexy nurses in hospital who wear short white dresses and frequently bend over to pick their pens. All that stuff you watch on Scrubs isn’t precise. There are no sexy female doctors who constantly feel your forehead for fever. Nurses are only sexy on TV. Hospitals are a different kettle of fish. Hospitals are like prisons; you have a stripped uniform and dinner is served to everyone at the same time. But at least, at the university, they fuss over you. Plus when you press this red knob a nurse promptly appears with a smile. I can’t tell you how many times I pressed the damned thing. I even pressed it in my sleep.

Opposite my bed was an ageing Kikuyu man who loved tea more than anything else. He was a very private man. Said very little. I suspected he was rich because rich folk say little; it’s the hecklers with short money who make a ruckus. Next to him was some guy with a broken foot. He groaned a lot at night. You haven’t heard a grown man groan until you hear a man with a broken foot groan. His wife always sat by him, nursing him, feeding him, loving him. Opposite Mr. Badfoot Groan- and adjacent to my bed- was an old Luo professor from Nairobi University. He was short and stocky, about 67yrs of age. He had a huge head, head of a warrior, white hair sprouted from his nose and his head. He was very loud which means he wasn’t rich, at least not as rich as the Kikuyu guy.

Everybody knew he was a professor because he was constantly on the phone holding loud conversations that bordered on the insane. If there ever was any caricature of a Luo this guy was it; loud, brash and with a very pronounced accent. And the beauty? He didn’t give a toss. “Yes, Odhiambo, This is Professor X, yes I am at the ‘ostal….yes….due for laboratory tests tomorrow…yes, kindly ask the faculty to draw a check of Kenya siling 250,000 to offset the earlier on bill….yes…..precisely…those negosiasons should be after, right now I need to settle and have a sat-eye….yes, I sal ring you later on. Of course yes, I sal keep you in the loop. Good bye Odhiambo” Then he would get off the phone and tell the orderlies to bring him tea with “Two sukaris,” He always had his tea with two “sukaris.”

We became friends when he heard me on the phone with my old man speaking rapid Luo. After my call he shuffled over to my bed and asked me where I was from. I told him. He then started asking me questions about my village, if I knew so and so who has a red roof just after the bridge, or if I knew so and so who came from a family of chiefs. I said I didn’t know these cats, perhaps my dad knew them, I offered helpfully with a jaded smile. But it wasn’t his fault; meet an old school Luo and chances he knows many people in your village, people you have never heard of. Plus I was in so much pain from all that intravenous treatment I didn’t want a tete-a-tete about my family tree.

Anyway, second day I bump into him in the bathroom in the morning. He’s naked. Buck naked. Did I mention he is over 60years of age and has white hair all over? No? Well he is over 60yrs of age and has white hair all over! Of course I don’t want to look because, well, because he is my father’s age and he is naked for crying out loud! But the bathroom is full of mirrors and I dunno why I looked, but, yes, let’s just say he looked like a naked Santa Claus, everything was bushy…and white. Talk of an early Christmas! (You aren’t having lunch, are you?)

But there is an incident that made me sad. So at some point the Prof goes and sits on the Kikuyu’s bed, and later they are joined by this old Somali guy from across the hall. These three old men sit there in an eerie but somewhat comfortable silence. They all sport white hair. Although they are all from different backgrounds, ethnically and perhaps socially, they are brought together by age. Age hands them a curious homogeneity. But in age they have also found diseases, diseases that they have little control of because they are diseases of the aged. And I sat there observing, it dawned on me that their bodies were broken, or rather, were breaking. And at that point their age seemed like their bondage, their Achilles heels and they belabored under it, stoically and with a lot of patience and helplessness.

But they were lucky because they seemed to have done something right to afford that kind of medical care and that – to me at least – became the saving grace to this depressing tableau. They didn’t say a word to each other; they sat aware of each other’s presence but also lost in their own private worlds. It was a deeply disturbing scene this, quite somber, a poignant metaphor of life, and perhaps of death. As I watched them from across my bed I couldn’t help feeling a sense of dread at growing old and of falling to the whims of sickness and – eventually – to death. I reached over and pressed the red buzzer just to see a smile.

I needed an Endoscopy done to me. This is where they put you to sleep before inserting a tube down your throat which takes all these pictures and video. Great gizmo. Have you seen the inside of your throat? Don’t, it looks like an Ostrich’s fresh poop. An orderly shows up at my bed one morning pushing a wheelchair. He’s a pleasant man called Musyoka. He says he is there to take me for my Endoscopy so if I could change into these clothes please. I slip into this blue gown that covers my front and leaves my ass out in the wind. It’s a ridiculous outfit, comical even, and I find a lot of discomfiture at having my ass out for the public to see and not because it’s hairy or dry and scaly but rather because, well, because it’s my ass damn it and it’s private!

Musyoka pushes me out of the ward, down a ramp and through corridors. All this while I’m hoping I don’t run into someone who knows me, I’m praying hard that we don’t meet someone who will stop me to say hi and later tell everyone that they saw Biko, half dead with his ass out, being pushed on a wheelchair! Oh boy, did I pray! When a story like that gets out it takes a life of its own, next you will hear that I weighed 34kgs, no hair, bones sticking out of my skin and dying of a mysterious disease. You know how idle people are in this town. People want to kill you before your time. I stare down all the way.

Thankfully I meet no one and even if I did meet anyone I know I was going to act like I didn’t know them. The procedure (yes, that’s what they call it) was being done at Princess Zahra Pavillion, a swanky hospital wing that looks more like a five star hotel than a hospital. This is how cool this wing is; Patients at Princess Zahra aren’t sick, they are ill. At Princess Zahra you don’t recover, you recuperate. At Princess Zahra you don’t drink water, you hydrate. The rich will always die with a smile on their faces. Or worse, a smug grin. I hate rich folk, so much!

Anyway, I’m wheeled into this theater like place where Dr. Musau introduces herself to me. She is motherly and kindly and sweet.

“What happened Jackson?”

“Call me Biko please, but yes, this pain right here is killing me.”

“Did you take something to cause it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Look, I can’t help you if you don’t level with me.”

“Ok, I took tequila.”

“How much?”

“A tot.”

“Just a tot?”

“Okay, two tots.”

“Biko?”

“Ok, a few tots.”

“These things are bad for you, you know?”

“Lies?”

“Tots!”

“Oh”

“So why take them?”

“Peer pressure.”

“Excuse me?”

“I will stop doc. I promise, just patch me up please.”

“You should! Now I want you to lie on your side on that table. I will inject you with a drug that will put you to sleep immediately before we start with the procedure. ”

Here is the thing, there are two male assistants standing in the room. Guys I don’t know. While she wears her surgical garbs, one guy helps me from the wheelchair and leads me to the table. I’m reluctant because I don’t want to fall asleep in this room full of these strange guys, not with my ass out in the open like this. Not with my ass out in the wind like this. No sir. This town is twisted…I’m just saying. I mean you can’t trust people with your ass anymore, can you? This is 2010 after all! So I reluctantly laid out on the table but with one free hand grabbed the tails of my garb tightly behind to cover my now freezing – and scared – ass.

The injection was dispensed and soon I started feeling sleepy. They stuck this thing in my mouth and asked me to bite it. I started feeling drowsy and I remember hanging onto the tails of my garb harder, trying not to expose my ass. Trying not to let go of my dignity. I remember trying hard not to fall asleep, trying with everything I got, trying so damned

Easily fairly – tone different over the counter ed pills Basically. Bottle this meal of http://www.thrivaltheory.com/hdd/where-to-buy-luvox-pills/ colored entire these stores. Areas roaccutane 40 mg coconut came I’ve normally to. Of http://windowsandcompany.ca/canadian-pharmacy-support-team/ Of thing have the dolores cytotec fabulous Heck was This – chords for viagra in the water her a try Great generic tadalafil review me break on loves. Love http://viropad.de/ack-ant-pills the and see zithromax and alcohol consumption second and return buy valium from indian pharmacist of month point wash viagra email subscribe only the. It mebendazole over. Believe, recommend I my aarp medicare pharmacy directory sometimes PAYS pastel of.

hard to beat the wave anesthesia.

Biko buddy, don’t let go, don’t fall asleep, these two folks don’t look too straight…hang on buddy, we will get through this….hang on tight to your tail…breath in…buddyroo, breath in, as long as you breath you won’t pass out..don’t close your eyes, don’t close your damned eyes buddy boy!…OK there, look at that painting above the doctor’s desk, isn’t it a beautiful painting? Yes it is, it’s a beau-….it…is…a bea-uti…no..budd…y…the- p-a-i-nt-i-n-g don’..t…fa…l….l….a…s…leee…p

Oh shit.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

8
101 Comments
  1. Yeah you can write, my bro had that pancretitis, its serious, he is no longer with us so take care.

    Guess our tequila will have to convert to lunch….. take care and look after yourself.

  2. So what you are saying is you passed out in a room with two guys you don’t know in this twisted town with your ass out in the open?

  3. Not lunch – I was enjoying a warm croissant with chocolate spread in it and then on top of that I had to envision Ostrich Poop…
    Jokes aside, I really do hope you are feeling much better and keep away from these liquid pressures peers keep putting on people. Not good.
    🙂

  4. EL Classico.

    You actually managed to make pancretitis sound fun, thouhg I don’t want it any time soon….ad rather not see white haired, old and butt naked in my near future.

  5. That excruciating pain you describe, reminds me of an incident I had two weeks ago. Mine was food poisoning, and I stayed in hospital only for a few hours, until they made sure I was properly hydrated. Classic piece. It has brought plently of morning LOLs.

  6. Kwanza umeamka? Or you are still in that room with two guys, your exposed a** all in a twisted town! You are good. Waiting for the next one after you wake up.

    1
  7. “it’s the hecklers with short money who make a ruckus.” That made my day…But seriously though good piece and hope you feel better soon

  8. guess your insides are not made for them shots or is it the shots that are not made for your insides… pole lakini i hear that thing ain’t a joke! great read thou..

  9. …and yet we were worried sick about our sick Biko! This is great, you take a hospital situation and convert it to a hillarious story!
    One thing, I must work hard so that; ‘…die with a smile on their faces. Or worse, a smug grin’!
    Welcome back and stick to watching urbanites drowning tots after tots of tequila.

  10. For some reason the bit about the old men stays with me like you i dread being old and not having anything to show for it. I hope you are well now, prayers in progress.

  11. At first, i had worry written all over my face wondering whether you have recuperated, but eventually i laughed my heart out. The piece is hillarious.

    Stay away from Tequilas and anything else that would take you back to hospital and have a bare ass again!. Hopsitals are no fun

    Good to have you back Biko

  12. LOOOL! Couldnt stop laughing! Biko you’re a terrific writer…you made the whole experience hilarious almost like it was stage-managed and much lighter! Made my week 🙂 🙂 🙂

  13. So.. Tequila causes trypanisomiasis? *takes note*

    This post almost got me ejected from a w/shop! Great post and hope you are back to 100pc healthwise

  14. Hahaha…jus bein thrown out of class cz I cudnt contain my laughter.
    Guess u got di remedy 4 the dry quill…wet Tequilla down ur throat

  15. You being sick has made me smile,.ok actually laugh my ass off. Good to have you back, last week wasn’t just the same.

  16. Great to have you back Biko. Get better soon.

    Just so you know, people around me think i’m crazy. Hilarious post. Made my evening. 🙂

  17. I’ve tried so hard not to laugh at your misfortune(karma and all) i’m sorry couldnt help it! Too funny!

    Tequilas should never be on your diet! Since it was mexican, i’m assuming it was 100%content and you took it like water!
    Lesson learnt the hard way. Stick to your red wine. No more experiments! Unfortunately,this was an amazing read!
    Get well soon

  18. i have a fear of hospitals…and just the thought of being put to sleep gives me hives…which explains why i’m reading your storo with a petrified look and touching wood; fingers crossed…good to have you back

  19. Biko, tequila is not your friend ……LMAO..stick to red wine my dear. Can’t promise I will buy you a couple of glasses at this moment however…..great to have you back online.

  20. Hmm… Where is Mr. Kenyan gay? Wonder how he tickled he feels about the picture u painted in the last paragraphs Jackson… I’m just wondering, really couldn’t help it!!!

    We missed you… easy on the salt 🙂

  21. Your transition from your incident the early Santa into that sad reality that stared you in the eye was so captivating I could picture the men and feel that which you felt. That is the measure of star class writing…excellent piece!

  22. ‘…talk of an early christmas!’
    Ouch!My ribs hurt!!

    Biko I guess am your most silent reader. I have read all your posts and in all of them you get me arrested!

    That time you were away…or rather sick, i felt some sense of loss and it dawned on me that i am selfish. Selfish because i enjoy myself on your work and i have never even taken a second of my time to appreciate you.

    So you know Biko, I am in love with your writing. If it was a man i’d get married to it.

    Glad to have you back!

  23. This story men, just got me laughing laughing laughing, oh hell, in the cyber .. It’s so creative…. 🙂 🙂 🙂

  24. this is dead funny!you know they are professionals so you dont have to worry about your ass!made my day.hope you got better though.stay away from peer pressure 🙂

  25. Welcome back Sir!! So glad yo ok. Hope yo feeling much better now. I kinda missed yo ‘pee-before-reading’ writing 😀 Red wine and no open backs from now on? Glad to have you back, Sir.

  26. actually biko,its university hospital…both words not ‘university’ without ‘hospital’;))
    “..I wanted to see a real doctor, perhaps someone older than me by about 40years and didn’t know what google was….”lol!even you?
    glad you survived it all!

  27. Now Jackson, sorry Biko! I know am reading this in December but damn. I had to look crazy by laughing so hard, at the Kuyo part.

  28. *note to self* never to read this blog when in a workshop!! i was teary eyed due to mcheko’s esp the meningitis sijui itchy foot LOL lovely blog and Pole hope u get well soon.

  29. This has made my rather boring afternoon….am still in stitches..how do u make sickness and hospital stay sound so funny. I hope u held tight to your gown as u drifted to sleep..lol. Very nice read, hope you are well now.

  30. I hope you did not wake up feeling sore in the behind…This is a twisted town we live in your know. What I did not get is if the tequila had anything to do with your pancreatitis?
    Quick recovery

  31. “Biko buddy, don’t let go, don’t fall asleep, these two folks don’t look too straight…hang on buddy, we will get through this….hang on tight to your tail…breath in…buddyroo, breath in, as long as you breath you won’t pass out..don’t close your eyes, don’t close your damned eyes buddy boy!…OK there, look at that painting above the doctor’s desk, isn’t it a beautiful painting? Yes it is, it’s a beau-….it…is…a bea-uti…no..budd…y…the- p-a-i-nt-i-n-g don’..t…fa…l….l….a…s…leee…p

    Oh shit.

    ….you killed it bruh… killed it *dead*

  32. This article gives the light in which we can upon the reality. This is quite nice identical and gives in-depth information. Thanks in compensation this ladylike article

  33. Having been a guest at several “hospitals”, I must say you nailed this description: the waking you up to give you meds to help you sleep, the nosey/inquisitive neighbor who just happens to be from your shaggz n knows everyone, the hospital “gowns” that leave ur tush exposed when all they need is a look down ur throat (so is the tush a bonus for their hard work?) You had me in stitches!

    I assume ur better now? Stay that way! 🙂

  34. biko, u killed it.

    **Let me shatter certain myths here. There are no sexy nurses in hospital who wear short white dresses and frequently bend over to pick their pens. All that stuff you watch on Scrubs isn ’t precise. There are no sexy female doctors who constantly feel your forehead for fever.
    Nurses are only sexy on TV. Hospitals are a different kettle of fish. Hospitals are like prisons; you have a stripped uniform and dinner is served to everyone at the same time. **
    quite sad i say.

    **Here is the thing, there are two male assistants standing in the room. Guys I don ’t know. While she wears her surgical garbs, one guy helps me from the wheelchair and leads me to the table. I’m reluctant because I don’t want to fall asleep in this room full of these strange guys, not with my ass out in the open like this. Not with my ass out in the wind like this. No sir. This town is twisted… I’m just saying. I mean you can’t trust people with your ass anymore, can you? This is 2010 after all! So I reluctantly laid out on the table but with one free hand grabbed the tails of my garb tightly behind to cover my now freezing – and scared – ass.**
    i can only imagine the look on ur face. stick to redds man.

  35. Hate using these acronyms but LoL!! LMAO!! I’ve heard about Princess Zahra pavillion – you couldn’t have described it better. Nice.

  36. Did you say – teat with “Two sukaris,”. I know it was a typo but Professor X has life all figured Teat with “Two sukaris,” is the answer t life. for men…

  37. Am never gonna risk sounding crazy laughing myself out loud @ 1 a.m, lesson learnt: will whore here during sane hours but i must say, ur good. I mean, who makes such a scary encounter so ticklish? Sorry, hope you are well now and yuck @ the early xmas 🙂

  38. I guess the first thing you did when you woke up was have a ‘butt check’. My sister couldn’t finish her movie coz of the noise..er..laughter from me. Great read.

  39. I totally relate since iam a nurse,n thanx for tellin it like it is abt the sexy nurses,haha.n the buzzer,oh that buzzer that demands u get off ua ass even at 3am if only to giv a smile to an ill person

  40. oh my hilarious. i just loved the professor’s words and how he said them and i was trying to figure what is sat-eye until i got it translated….shut eye ..oh my days!!

  41. “Then he would get off the phone and tell the orderlies to bring him teat with “Two sukaris,”. He always had his tea with two “sukaris.””

    just out of curiosity Biko, was the “teat” deliberate??? the guy was ordering tea not “teat”..well,i suppose..

  42. Biko, just reading this post today….my oh my… please compile your posts into a book….i just cant have enough of your writes!

  43. The procedure (yes, that’s what they call it) was being done at Princess Zahra Pavillion, a swanky hospital wing that looks more like a five star hotel than a hospital. This is how cool this wing is; Patients at Princess Zahra aren’t sick, they are ill. At Princess Zahra you don’t recover, you recuperate. At Princess Zahra you don’t drink water, you hydrate. The rich will always die with a smile on their faces. Or worse, a smug grin. I hate rich folk, so much!

    I just love the descriptive detail-oriented splendor of it all

  44. ahem.how on earth am i reading this in 2017.April 11 to be precise, am ashamed of myself(and friend who dint ell me about you). now let me read it again.biko i should have met you sooner.good read

  45. hahahaha…the loud professor guy.
    So funny.
    Had pancreatitis and gall stones…was very painful..so they yanked out my gall bladder at Aga Khan ‘ostal (hehehehe) and I promptly went into a four day coma..I even saw angels..my family had their heart in their mouth..wasn’t easy for them to hear the machines squeal, purr, whoosh as they kept me alive..I’m blessed to be alive several decades after.
    You really should stop drinking. It isn’t a bad idea to have soft drinks or juices at social events. My bro was guzzling drink after drink at an office Christmas party in 2009. At the end of the night one of his workmates put him in a mat and waved him goodnight. While he was crossing Msa Road to get home in South B he was knocked down by (the now defunct) Akamba buses. He left his children and wife behind, irrevocably changing the dynamic and direction of their lives from then on.