Outside a Hospital Theatre

If you walk into a hospital, even when you are not sick, seeing sick people dampens your mood. You feel helpless. You wish you can help. You wish you can make it easier. You wish you can tell someone it is going to be ok. You wish you can give someone a hug but you remember the last thing sick people need is pity. They need reassurance, and that sometimes comes by saying nothing.

If you have waited for your patient to get out of the theatre, the days are longer than summer in Canada.

But when the waiting area right outside the theatre, the whole experience is even worse. When the doors open, a host of pungent smells hits your nostrils.  Then if someone is wheeled out all covered, you know the battle is lost. If someone is wheeled out covered shoulders downwards, the battle has been half won. You have a front seat as a witness of light and darkness in people’s lives.

A few days ago I found myself in Mater Hospital. I was not sick. My friend was, rather, he needed to go through a procedure. His tummy had been bothering him.  Why did I go then? He was going to be sedated and it would be problem for him to drive back home. He told me he would be too drunk to drive back. Being a good friend, I cleared my day to take him. In fact, I looked like a father taking his son to the hospital.

We were there at 9:30 am. The procedure was meant to start at 11. The doctor had said we be there early because there were some formalities to be done before the procedure. He was having an endoscopy. I made fun of him the whole way because in the olden times they used to shove the tube in your backside and I hoped the doctor he was seeing is an old guy who liked old methods. However, thanks to advancement in technology, nowadays, they put it through the mouth.

We were told the doctor will be there by noon. At 12:15, we showed up again. This time we were told to wait for a few minutes. 30 minutes later, he was called in. I asked the nurse, ‘how long will it take?’

She said, ’20 minutes for the procedure, and 30 minutes’ recovery.’

After a few minutes, she emerged with my friend’s phone. Handed it to me and vanished into a room with those tinted reflective windows.

We were at the day care center. The waiting area is right outside the theatre- where they do light procedures, and the recovery room- where people are taken in to recover consciousness. Some people (like my friend) walk to the theatre and others are wheeled in. After twenty to thirty minutes, they are wheeled back to the recovery room either sleepy or half awake.

I went to the car to get my book and my hoodie. (This reminds me of my friend who was complaining that nowadays I act all married. “Wahinya, when I first met you, you used to wear nice khaki pants and shirts. Nowadays all you wear are hoodies and t-shirts. Like you are unavailable and uninterested. I chuckled when she said that. Because it is true. I wear hoodies all the time. Everyday other than church. I do not want my blessings to miss me because I have this distinct forehead I wouldn’t want the angel to miss when she comes with the blessings because it is covered up.)

I had been reading fault in our stars, I felt a tinge of guilt because of reading this story of kids dying of cancer in a hospital. Anyone who has read the book and saw me reading must have thought, ‘such an insensitive prick.’ Reading a book about death in a hospital.

In hospitals you read books about hope. Books about second chances. Books about the living. Books about determination to live against all odds. But it was the only book I had. Also, reading it there reminded me that the people who we expect to die are not the ones who die because miracles do happen.

Before I knew it, one hour was gone. I thought, he will be out any minute from now. I went back to reading my book. I got to this section where two lovers were arguing about the concept of heaven. The girl insisted that heaven was a true concept for those who are intellectually inept. But she confesses that the guy wasn’t.

It’s a conversation I’d have with one of my friends. Well, with this girl I had/have a crush on. You know one of those girls you cannot shake off? Those girls who there is always something that reminds them of them. It maybe that couch that you both liked. A quote she once told you when you were feeling discouraged. It is a shop you argued which street it is located. Or simply a dress that you know it will fit them perfectly. Such things remind of how our feelings and our hearts have this strong grip on us.

In that moment of weakness, you will remove your phone, fondle with it, and then text them; “Just seen something that reminds me of you.” When you hit send, you realize it is a mistake. Is she wants to spite you; she doesn’t text for hours. When she finally asks, ‘what?’ even without saying ‘hi,’ you also don’t reply for hours to show her she is not the only one with monopoly for madharau. But deep down you want to talk to them, you know it is a bad idea, but just like anything else, you know it will pass. Just that it takes time.

So after reading that scene, I texted her, “Sasa, I am reading this book and there’s a scene that reminds me of you. A conversation is something you and me would have.”

It doesn’t take long to text back because she is the curious type.

” She asks, ‘which one? Please send a screenshot.”

You send her the screenshot. She says, “yes, it is something I would say.” Then she wishes you a good day (she knows you will not have a good one because she has left unceremoniously) with such finality.

You look at that text and curse.

Two hours passes and your buddy hasn’t showed up. You start fidgeting, shifting in your seat. The mind being the idiot it can sometimes be starts telling you, “prepare to tell the good bad news.” You walk to the nurse manning the reception desk. She has dreadlocks which rhymes so well with her dark chocolate completion. You can look at her the whole day without saying a word and go home feeling content. She is a beauty to behold. But for now, albeit temporarily, the beauty cannot even mellow the anxiety you feel. You ask her,’ kwani how long was he going to take?’ She says, “give him a few minutes he should be out. Another hour passes. He hasn’t showed up. Now you are worried.

The wife sends you a text, ‘mtu ameamka?”

You text back and say, “Bado, it takes a while for cerelac folks to gain back consciousness.” Then add a smiley at the end because you do not want to be the guy who sends false signals.

45 five minutes later, I see someone emerge from the door, half asleep, holding some papers.

“Death warrant?” I ask him. Thankfully, he has a good sense of humour.

He laughs. They says, “Silly! No, a clean bill of health.” He had some notes in his hands.

On our way home, he is in and out of consciousness. I am not messing with you. The dude would pass out every few minutes. But when we got home and he heard the wife’s voice, he regained consciousness completely.

He was to get his results after one week. When he went, it was nothing serious but now he has a mini pharmacy in his house. And he cannot take anything alcoholic for a while. But he is cool with it because he tells me both the alcohol and the medicines have the same effects.

Image source: itv.com