My near-death experience at a badly constructed hospital

I'm very much like you. I hate hospitals.

For every reason that you do... the nauseating smell that envelopes the air, the I-hope-you-die look the nurses give you when you're diagnosed, the peering eyes of the doctor as if he's searching deep into your soul to find the cause of your ailment and all the other things that makes hospitals my least favourite place on earth.

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When I started to ask my mother questions about heaven and what she'd do when I'm gone, everyone knew it was time for a brief hospital vacay... pretty much someplace for me to chill while the professionals extract the thoughts of heaven from my head with a syringe.

The doctor called it acute malaria and I was not surprised. If it's not acute, it's chronic. The blood-sucking bastards who hovered around my life made sure of that.

In no time, I had secured a room furnished with two beds and as I settled in, I briefly exchanged greetings with a middle-aged woman who was to be my roomie for the next two or three days. She had just had a baby and she looked like life had been sapped out of her. I wonder why people let these things happen to them. Quick nugget: If you cannot or do not want to have a baby, then don't

As I settled into my holiday accommodation, I could not fight off the smell of fresh paint and the occasional noise that told me the hospital was still somehow under construction. As you know in these parts, the urge to kick off business many times supersedes safety.

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What I also noticed was how many turns it took to reach my hospital room. The thought that flashed in my head was this: how do I quickly find the nurse if my roomie starts gasping for breath in the middle of the night? I can't write statement ooo

I had no inkling I'd be the one in need of help, soon! LOL.

Unlike me who had only my mum waiting on me to get better, my roomie had an envious number of visitors coming and going. I looked at each of them drowsily wondering if they were truly happy about the birth of that child. That's their palava, I thought. Let me just be well and leave this place.

I had barely gone through day 1 when the worst happened.

I had fallen asleep while I wondered about my roomie's visitors and all of this was after the nurse wired me up for the drip thing. It was slowly trickling into my system and I remember calculating when the transparent bag would empty itself completely in my body so there can be world peace.

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My eyes slightly opened with me feeling so groggy but sure something wasn't right. My roomie was already screaming when I saw it. I was lying in a pool of my own blood dripping from my arm where the syringe was inserted in me. I attempted to scream too but it just wouldn't happen. So I fell back and watched as life slipped out of me.

It took the longest number of minutes for the nurses to arrive as it appeared the room I was in was not conveniently positioned for emergencies. And of course, there was no buzzer.

When they finally arrived, they found they needed a foam and a bowl to clean up my mess. I mouthed a silent thank you to my roomie and thought of how I owed my life to her at that very moment. The drip was adjusted and I was calmly warned to avoid rolling over it again to prevent a reccurence.

Of course, I parked myself well from thence. My roomie was discharged the following day and I sent her off with gratitude. I still somehow owe my life to her and I wonder what her baby is doing right now.

It's been 7 years!

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