This is a memo with events as recounted from St. Andrews’ and St. Georges…
Events since the last post I did on this blog have drastically changed lives… I can say my life has changed, in some ways I am not yet able to tell but most certain is it’s not going to be entirely be the same… the plan was to go spend time away for a week with The Mrs and reflect on what possibly has been my hardest year ever and to assess what approach I should give year 2011… Well, most of my reflection is happening at Nairobi Hospital, St. George Ward… and she is doing her’s amidst recovery from St. Andrew’s.
First of all am just grateful to the almighty God for allowing me a chance to breathe this hospital air, see the computer screen with one fair eye…to just be alive. Most of all I thank him for allowing me a chance to keep the one person I have uncontrollable and unstoppable love for, The Mrs. I am lucky to have her as my best friend, my soul mate and love of my life… if I have to live each day for the sole purpose of making her happy I will. I chose to love her, and I fell far too deep to ever remember where I came from.
Months ago, as far as October 2010 we had arrangements in place for our ‘retreat’. We happen to be in similar career lines; financial planners, analysts…the guys who can make The 20 Share Index sexy… 4 real J, and we have a lot in common from the way we grew up, it even shocks us at times. I was not surprised when she sent me an excel document on Google docs complete with a budget, time lines and activities to do while away in Uganda. Those are things I love about her; she is one woman I for sure know has her stuff together. I am usually amused when I gather that she finds the very things that make her special to me as being the same that endear me to her… I talk more though… the chatter box… which makes it great for our company… and lands me in trouble when I can’t remember a storyline to something I cooked up… she is the greatest yet; the best. We have a deal with her, if she ever allows me to pursue my itchy politics as a career, I will be allowed impunity in just one single way; to make her the KACC Director… believe me, she will catch the bad guys and put them where everyone else in that capacity has failed.
Well, the eve of our trip was here… I was to book the bus to Jinja by Friday 17Th Dec 2010 but in all honesty, I got caught up preparing handover notes for my portfolio and projects I was reviewing and appraising then… for anyone who does that stuff and works in an office with a considerably small number of staff like I do it was a lot of work. I just became lazy and instead opted for a different last minute plan to get a villa, guest house or just anything she could be at peace with and for us to do our ‘Strategic Planning (read my last post)’ and just relax… but then I know my lady… from a facial expression I can tell when I am winning and when am loosing… I wish Arsenal can learn that skill from her and just give up English football anywayJ. So, as it turns out… I lost the battle and was put in the car, and driven to River road… both of us in home shorts to make sure the buses are booked.
Our preferred Modern coast bust was fully booked further past the dates Mrs had booked our hotel… As such, we picked a fight… I got the ‘eyes’ for find us means to Jinja by 20th 6pm… This led me to book the fateful 8pm Kampala Coach Bus which we were to board by 730pm. By the time the bus came, it was way past 8pm… It was ‘Vietnam’ between Mrs and me; our code for War Zone… not talking. I remember all she asked was if I had carried the tickets and if I had managed to change any money to Ugandan Currency. I didn’t say much, I just held removed the tickets, held them in my hand together with the passport and an envelope I had some money in.
As she reached for her purse to get me her passport (we were nearing the bus entrance… 3 meters)… something dropped between us, in a black polythene bag. First impression to me was she probably had dropped something from her purse and so I asked… she said ‘nop, not mine’… together with the other people around, we raised alarm, asking everyone to confirm possibility that the dropped stuff could be their luggage. While this was happening (in split seconds) there was a hissing sound which we all thought was from the bus since it had just parked and its characteristic of them to make relative noises. This was not the case however… smoke came from the polythene bag that had been dropped between Mrs and I… I don’t even know what happened thereafter… I just remember holding Mrs’ hand as she handed attempted to hand me her passport and screaming at the loudest I could… RUN!!! Everything was lost then… whatever happened I have no clue…
I found myself standing across the road, somewhere around Latema Road Junction overlooking Kampala Coach booking office… blood was sprinkling all over my face. I could hardly see, my right eye was clouded with blood and my left eye was totally out, I could not move it… I could feel glass particles in them; I must have pulled out the big one… ( I am bespectacled usually, and the Indian girl who attends to me at Cambridge and Company always says the shape of my face and head works best with frameless spectacles…) I am not wearing anything frameless soon…
In such circumstance Kenyans are known to just stare, and those who’ve missed out on what happened are known to rush to the scene to ‘see for themselves’… I could only think of my love… I didn’t care where there was going to be another blast, whether I was going to drop dead from bleeding… whatever, I just wanted to know she was alive. With my pullover in my face shielding the new found blood sprinkler from making others uncomfortable and my blood covered cell phone, which Mrs has nicknames ‘snaptu’… simply because she says I am stubborn to but a ‘proper phone’… I tried making endless calls… There was phone traffic I believe, even for her and I who are on the better Airtel (Zain). I kept moving the bodies that were lying next to the bus trying to establish whether any of them was her… luck served me well, when I finally went through and learnt that a Good Samaritan had fetched her in his ‘probox’…another car we make fun of … to Kenyatta.
Maybe this watching TV stuff isn’t so bad at all, with my cell phone in the hand, I spotted our suitcase, dragged it over to a yellow taxi, KAL… it’s all my alive eye could see… I was bending into the driver’s window literary begging the man to take me to hospital… It was a yellow Toyota 110. Some of the blood dripping must have sprayed on him; he quickly raised his windows and said he couldn’t allow blood to his car. I know I am still bitter and I do not want to wish him well at all, but Mum always told me everything has a reason. I got assisted by a gentleman in a white T-shirt nearby. He held one side of the suite case and pushed me over to the upper side of Latema Road… I still didn’t want to let the suite case go… I still don’t know why. But the cab guy helped… He drove miraculous and followed instructions I gave…
Not that I knew anything I was saying but I know Mrs was on phone, she kept crying her legs were broken as I told her she will be Ok… (She hates when I tell her it will be ok) but what could I say? She was concerned of my pain, I didn’t know how I was hurt, I knew my hip area was a huge mess, I knew I was bleeding faster than a Grace Mugabe bleeds Zimbabwe’s economy… I could feel open wounds on my back, hip joint, face… I knew and I felt like I was going to collapse any minute… The driver drove me past Nairobi Hospital, I think he was panicking, or maybe he is just used to serving clients from the other side of Nairobi. We finally made it to the Emergency Center… there was no parking. I remembered to get out my wallet; I gave the man Kshs. 1,000. Much as I am a Finance person, I think at that point the political side of me took over… I thanked him for saving me.
Walking into the Emergency Center was a nightmare, nobody took me serious, I was dragging along the suite case, holding the pullover on my face and I was talking. Somewhere on the way to hospital, I called my sister, whom I knew would make sure everyone from family would know. I called my cousin Yuri… I knew the whole world will know and will make sure we are attended to. Linus Kaikai of NTV was at the Emergency reception when I walked in. I recognized him, and I said hello, he also pointed me towards the desk where casualties were reporting for attention… he might not remember really but believe me, I once auditioned somewhere to be a TV News caster (what was I thinking).
The emergency center was the worst place to be, I didn’t look ‘so bad’ apparently… All I could see were rookie medical interns mostly confused with the sight of a confident patient bleeding and talking… and one Doctor, who didn’t even interrogate me on anything to establish what I was going through… and who in less than three (3) minutes wrote me a note to go see Dr. Masinde, an eye consultant the next day, asked the student nurse (Sharon) to give me a tetanus Injection and discharge me. I am sooooo offended by that young Doctor man, I really I am, my heart bleeds every time I remember how he cared less about me. I really wish God can get him out of the Medical profession and send him somewhere else; he does not deserve to take care of any living thing. He is the definition of the worst medical attendant. Much as I am angry at the people who bombed my girlfriend and I, and many other innocent people, this man left a scar in my heart that is unforgivable. I just can’t.
I know myself best, perhaps the only other person who knows some meaningful, shocking and unrevealed things about me, my personality and such is my lady, and my father… mum too maybe. Mrs knows I will act normal when am screwed, I will cry when am in joy, or touched. Dad knows because I am him. Mum knows because I am my fathers son… It is very hard for me to be concerned about myself when everyone else, especially those I care about are not OK… I managed to get sleep on day one, a one hour session in ward, at St. Luke, Thanks to Mrs’ family and Aunt Nancy; Yuri’s Mum for screaming and threatening to sue the Hospital if I didn’t get attended to. They are my people… I will always be theirs… I am grateful.
Time in hospital has its share of stories. By far The Mrs and I are the patients attracting the most interest from just about everyone. Initially I was ‘miles’ away from her ward. Her Sister’s (Nancy and Anne), friends, particularly tweeps (@Mosande, Monsieur Mo and company) made sure I was moved to the same floor… a comfortable walking distance to her ward. It makes days better knowing that there are so many people taking care of us and ensuring we are doing well. Mrs’ mum calls us every morning, and she prays on phone… something I had noticed a few months ago when a colleague of Mrs’ had her mum sick (RIP). My parents are mostly scared, and I am almost certain they don’t even know what to do with me… I have refused completely to let them close… I know they worry, but I also know myself best, I don’t deal with sympathy… or is it empathy well… It breaks me down.
For those who have visited us in hospital most certainly feel more in hospital at Mrs’ than at my bed. I crack jokes, I am the chatterbox, I act normal. A while back I was told by a counselor at a team building session that I need to work on my emotion… I don’t know how to feel bad and express sorrow. I have always been by myself most of my life… through boarding school and such. Even my kid sister, whenever she visits (daily) she gets to talk when I am asking something… I am not a bad person right? Just the orientation I had in my early childhood, I grew up knowing if I have a problem, if am in pain or suffering, al get through… by myself, with God. Of course I have dated some people… most have never figured me out… Mrs does, she can tell when am struggling and when am being myself. Like she knows I am probably crushing down, she asked I be brought the laptop so I can write… Its therapeutic for me. I feel better when I write since I don’t talk the bad stuff really.
Its so painful sometimes trying to imagine why anyone really would want to have innocent bystanders like Mrs and I, and others we were traveling with dead. So we die, and get badly hurt then what? Do they like pop champagne and celebrate their victory as we struggle in hospital calling our families, insurances and sleepless nights imagining how our lives are changing, have changed, will change? It really pains and as much as I want to keep cool and move on with life, the pain within is unbearable. I am OK with my hurt… but I cant just keep seeing Wifey sitted in that bed longer… It’s been easier since we have been critical as such, am getting better, I want to leave this place and go live by Kellie’s side, learn medicine even, magic… to make her better, I want to go to the gym and do the treadmill with her, let her beat me so she can feel nice, I want us to go plan for dinner, then spend time fighting about where to go and eventually just stay home and order Debonaires…
I want to see better, I want to hear her tell me I have baby-ish eyes again, not ask me whether I can see… I want to wake up next to her and watch her sleep peaceful… iron her blouse and clean her shoes… and leave her a note wishing her a great day. I can do that now… half the time am just trusting that what am typing here is making sense since I cant see well… I keep getting nightmares after all of you have left, I dont worry much about what happened, It did, and I have made peace with the fact that it was meant to be so. I have enjoyed Christmas in Hospital because I got to see her sleep… I am worried, I dont know if she is asleep because she is at eace or on medication. I stare at her and wish I can help… I wish I was the one a bit broken. I could rant, but it will not help… its just the only way I know how to. I don’t cry (only Kellie sees me do that, on some silly Sitcoms we watch). I am always superman… why cant I be superman now God? I want my baby better.
I cant even begin thanking everyone… Kindly let me sleep… I will write some more when the Doctor allows me my computer again, and when the sleeping pills are outta my system. I can just say from Kellie and I, we have witnessed love unseen, unimagined, unexpected. Each and everyone, for her, for me, for obvious, for secret, for real and for genuine goodwill has done their best to make us feel loved…. and we dearly appreciate. Someday we will give thanks to you all… it is my greatest wish that God allows us that chance, at least he saved us 🙂
I am hopeful I will leave soon after my surgery session around Tuesday… I will give thanks and more… for now, Sempeyo, the Student Nurse insists I must rest, she say’s she been at Kellie’s and she has dozed off.