It’s Okay

I was recently in hospital.

I had to go to the casualty department because I have ovarian cysts which burst every now and then just to mess with me.

It’s like a little sack filled with fluid and it grows inside uteruses, on ovaries and god knows where else, and one day – without warning, might I add – it could explode.

The first time it happened to me, I thought I was either dying or my appendix had ruptured.

At the time, due to delirium, I was praying for the former.

When I got to the hospital, they put me on a drip for the pain and did a bunch of tests. A sonogram revealed that a cyst attached to me and had been compromised.

When measured, it was a massive seven centimetres big – the same size of the ovary it was so eagerly clinging to.

The doctors told me it’s pretty benign and that, aside from managing the pain, there was little that could or should be done at the time.

This was in January. From time to time I would look back at that experience and shudder at the prospect of reliving it.

Then, a few weeks ago, I felt that familiar pain in my lower abdomen.

At first I was in complete denial about it for a couple of hours, hoping that if I pretended hard enough, it would go away.

The truth is that I just could not stand to be inside a hospital again. I wanted to avoid going at all costs, because I was in a foreign country, I hate talking to strangers about my business, money was low, and truthfully, I was also kinda lazy.

I tried to ignore it, I tried to nap, I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, and I gulped down some over-the-counter painkillers.

I knew that, just like before, it would be extremely painful at first and then slowly get better over the next few days and weeks. But I overestimated my own abilities, as I just didn’t realise how much of that relief I felt the first time had been aided by the presence of whatever drugs they gave me intravenously.

After basically banging down my front door and forcing me out of bed, my neighbour drove me to the casualty department at around 22h00, after I told him my symptoms.

He tried hard to strike a balance between racing to the hospital and driving gently enough for me not to suffer.

Bless him.

When we got there, he plopped me into a wheelchair and some nurses helped me inside.

I felt small. Through all the pain and tears and fear, the thing I was experiencing the most was embarrassment over the whole situation. I was embarrassed to be frail in front of my friend, embarrassed to be pushed around in a wheelchair, and embarrassed about having to tell the nurses all the gory details of my insides.

When I first felt the effects of the drip – after hours of unimaginable pain – I sat straight up on the hospital bed.

This weird wave of heat and energy had washed over me, and I felt like I needed to stand or run or kick a door down. After a few minutes, the sedative side of it started to take over. I sat back down, again humbled by my situation and embarrassed that I had felt embarrassed earlier.

Then I had one of the best sleeps I’ve ever slept in my life.

I dreamt about myself, my life, my past, my mother’s lovely face, food I like and missions I needed to complete. I thought I was somewhere else entirely. It was peaceful.

When it was time to go home, I was so excited.

Something I learnt from this whole ordeal is that it is okay to need people.

Although I cringe at the prospect of asking for help or ‘inconveniencing’ others, people around me actually care about me, and I don’t have to deal with or fix everything alone.

I am a lot better now and am taking preventive steps for the future, though I understand very much that life can and will throw anything at me.

It doesn’t make me frail or anything like that. It just confirms I’m a human being, and that’s okay.

– Anne Hambuda is a writer, commentator and poet. Follow her online or email her at annehambuda@gmail.com for more.

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