It is 1515 Hours as I type this. I am still in bed, nothing better to do really. My mind is racing though, fast and wide. I haven’t even had breakfast yet, just a banana. I am that consumed with thought. This has nothing to do with sympathy though. Not even empathy; just another story from my crumpled pad. Commentary, experience, opinion; stories of my life.
It’s fairly four months since I got caught up in a terrorist targeted bus blast. Never before in my life have I ever felt like I am at a standstill like I have in recent months. For most of the time I have remained a genuinely jolly, positive minded person. I’ve had few moments’ of weakness so to speak. At least as far as thinking things through; you know, me, work, relationships, people, opportunities…basically life and its general nonsense as someone else puts it. That lasts only for so long. You eventually wake up some day and you feel beaten. I have had these kinds of days in plenty, of late. You know, waking up even late, things I do not usually do. Waking up and lacking purpose for the day, really it’s been happening and it truly disturbs my mind. A close confidant says my brain works overtime, either manufacturing ideas or trouble. Right now it’s just trying, to make sense of things. Something another friend tells me I need to stop doing. I wish I could but I am wired to really just analyze things and find solution or at least find something interesting about them.
Last December before the blast I was eager to go away on a trip with my loved one. Away from familiar environs to basically unwind and make sense, plan for things that I thought important for the rest of my life. This did not happen. I instead spent relatively four weeks in hospital, undeservedly so courtesy of Doctor Negligence, wrong medication and delayed surgery. I remember on 28Th December 2010. I was scheduled for a review with Dr. Ilakho. She had operated on me after some dear friends intervened in view of the fact that I had spent over 36 hours in hospital without being attended to on the one thing that was completely damaged and very sensitive, my left eye. Again, thank you the two Mo’s and the other’s who intervened for me to get help. May your kindness and concern be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination. I particularly want to thank tweeps. I got so much love from you all. No amount of words can describe the gratitude I have for you. I made friends and I experienced the power of prayer and goodwill. May God bless each you.So 28Th, I woke up at 0300Hrs. I was terribly anxious. For about seven days I had not seen anything with the damaged eye and to me this was the day I was going to know the fate of my vision, for the rest of my life. So I tossed around in bed, listened to Joyce Mayer, played music, watched TV, at least with the one eye. I prayed, tweeted, read some blogs. I was restless. It came to 10AM, two hours past my scheduled appointment, no Doctor. It felt horrible. I made noise around the ward, I was no longer the calm and cheery patient who told stories with Nurses. Lucky that the head nurse of my wing was my father’s student ages ago. He followed up and I got news, Dr. Ilakho was on holiday till mid January. I got beat, I remember Salma, an acquaintance asking me if my bitching was going to expedite my recovery. Luckily a Doctor that had been recommended earlier, Dr. Onyango was contacted and he came to do magic on my eye. It felt like deliverance. We became friends and every when I speak to him about my eye troubles, he confidently and tactfully puts my worries away.
I have not yet made sense of why we were involved in the blast. I have never known why I had to lose vision and why Kellie got the injuries she got. For most of the time, people tell me not to worry about that and that I am not in a position to make sense of what happened. I ask myself lots, like why I had to be in hospital the longest, of all that survived the blast. Today in particular I have been wondering if besides us, the other survivors still are in pain, physical pain. Do they struggle to do things that were once basic? Stronger one’s at spirit tell me that all this time was meant for me to grow spiritually and find purpose with God, to know that I am not in charge of my life, my destiny. I always believe I am the architect of my own destiny, somehow. I wake up, I make plans and I work through them, I realize some triumphs and some lessons from failing. Along the way I make some people happy and others sad. Life as I know it. I have been trying though, to leave it all to God, Jesus. To pray and keep faith that the intended path shall be found. I believe in God, I am not sure I let him run my life though. I am learning.
I am still at wonder though. What I am I supposed to be making of my life as days go by? I feel like before this blast I was a totally different person from what I am today. I am no longer as forceful and combatant. I am not quite purposeful on things I choose to do today as I did before. Somehow I identify more with disappointment, fear and sad situations than the cheer, easiness and target as I feel I did before. I am more emotive than factual. Another close friend tells me I got lost in the blast. Perhaps the most disturbing thing is work. I go there and do the very basic I am required to. I attend meetings, do several papers, and follow up on my projects and such. Just what I am supposed to do, I am lacking heavily on passion, the one thing I have always been identified with through my six years or so serving in various capacities. While fetching tea from the urn midweek, I overheard a colleague tell another to work with what I had given and not to disturb me because I appear unsettled and kind of confused since I resumed duty. I know she meant well but that killed me.
Tomorrow I am back to hospital, being admitted for a surgical procedure on my eye. Vision has become quite poor in recent weeks. The Doctor says there are corneal scars from the shrapnel and slits. That is blocking vision. The intravascular lens that I was given to replace the washed away natural one is off centre too. This does not worry me much, I have gotten used to making do with the good eye, not much of a cry baby either. I also trust my Doctor’s ability to just tell me the truth and do his best. I am also not adventurous enough to try other doctors and solutions. I plan to visit India for a transplant sometime in the year, after Insurance behaves of course. What disturbs me most is I have another month away from normal life. I will sit at home, to get well. This is the death of me. Already my brain is seriously lazed. One more month at home means for an entire half year, I will have not done anything. My business and hustles suffered huge after being admitted and from staying home initially. I do no want to imagine what’s at risk now. For most, we put it to God. I remember telling a friend that I will start the rest of my life after Nairobi Hospital; I had a false start in most sense. This is take two, the rest of my life starts after this surgery.
One thing, I am learning to be thankful. I will say I am in a better place in a way. I thank God for his mercies towards me. The worst could have happened. Acceptance is challenging.