The Green Eyed Monster - Pertunia Lehoka (top e book reader txt) 📗

A LETHAL INJECTION IN THE HANDS

OF

A GREEN EYED MONSTER

She had been looking frail, going to the clinic every Thursday for checkup. As delicate as she was, she held on as we both stood outside the building where we both worked, waiting for our transport to take us home after work. Bertha looked at me and mumbled a few words to me, “Pat, I’m ill; I’m really ill.”

I looked at her, as if to prevent her from telling me what her ailment was. Truth be told, I had had a hunch for a very long time, simply by looking at her physically emaciated stature and constant cough, that she was really ill. Her light skin tone bore a contrast between pale and red with bloodshot eyes.

What she was about to tell me, simply affirmed what I had already known for a while, that she was truly ailing from something that was likely to be chronic. My colleague turned very close friend, insisted on telling me what was wrong with her. My heart pounded and I shivered, while my ears barred me from listening attentively. I had to, as it was becoming evident that she needed an avenue of release and had at the time, chosen me to be that emotional deposit box. I was her friend after all.

“What is wrong Bertha?” I asked, my heart continuing to thrash sporadically, hoping that what I feared wasn’t really her reality. However, my suspicions were confirmed.

“I have that dreaded disease Sis and my CD 4 count is very low,” she told me hastily in a fading and shaking tone, her watery eyes presenting the physical and emotional pain she was experiencing at the time.

“Oh Bertha, I’m so sorry to hear this. Did you find out recently?” I guess her conduct when she told me about her illness, made me think that reality was only sinking in, that she had been diagnosed with what was deemed back then, to be a life threatening illness with no cure or, with very little management care for it.

“No Pat, I have known for five years now,” she responded.

I was frightened and mystified to hear her say that.

Tears ran down my face and in implicit accord between the two of us, we hugged, as she sobbed on my shoulders, while I held her tightly very close to my torso. I could tell that she still had a lot to say.

“I, I ...,” her voice trailed off.

An unexpected wail emanated from her, so loud that within a couple of minutes, we had an audience. A few colleagues encircled us, curious about what had transpired and very eager to help. They had no idea that their help, although possibly well meaning, wasn’t what she was looking for at that moment as it was indefinable and there was really nothing much they could do for us… for her at the time. I politely asked them to please give us some time as I needed to speak to Bertha alone. They indulged us and moved a few steps away from us.

Bertha then told me that she had been going for counseling ever since she was diagnosed and, was now having a breakdown of sorts. She had no idea why she was feeling that way. She told me that her heart was beating in an unusual manner, as if she had just run extremely fast.

I was really worried even though I had thought that she should have dealt with the knowledge of her status better by then, seeing as she told me that she had known of her ailment for five years already. I guess the reason must have been that, it was the first time she was telling someone outside of her family. That’s what I convinced myself was the case.

Two of our older colleagues who had moved away from us a bit, couldn’t take it anymore and insisted on joining us.

“Pat, this looks serious. What can we do?” I looked at the women and shook my head.

“Please…, not now. I know you’d like to help but Bertha is not well emotionally. So please, let us not overwhelm her at the moment. I’m sure that when she’s doing better, she will tell you what’s bothering her,” I sternly stated.

I had to take charge of the situation as it would have gotten out of hand. Honestly now, those ladies were simply being inquisitive as opposed to wanting to be of help; well known gossip-mongers in the company!

I tried in vain to get my friend to calm down but the more I spoke and pleaded with her, the more it seemed like I was making her weep some more. A bus halted at the bus stop nearby, prompting the many colleagues around us to leave, rushing to board and wishing us the best – some genuinely concerned about what could have happened.

I knew when they left, that the following day, they would be all over us, demanding to know what was going on the previous day. Bertha kept crying and my blouse was soaking wet, so was hers.

She eventually pulled herself together - only just, asking if I could accompany her to the same bus onto which our colleagues were embarking. I declined to do so because I knew that, should she get onto that bus, everyone would make demands, wanting to know what the problem was. Who knows where that information could have landed?

Remember that it was still taboo back then to talk about HIV, let alone AIDS. It was even more painful for those suffering from the disease, as people were bound to disassociate themselves from them, believing that by breathing the same air, or sharing the same cups even if they are washed, they would somehow catch the illness. Very ill-advised I know!

Most sufferers lived in complete misery and perhaps still do, despite a lot of information available all over the Internet, at health facilities, in the media and even in schools and institutions of higher learning. The government also tries its best, to always provide appropriate teachings on the subject. At this stage, the HI virus is no longer a death sentence, provided one adheres to all instructions and takes medication as prescribed.

I immediately offered Bertha a lift home because I was very distraught to see her in that state. While awaiting my husband to pick me up, I kept glancing at her. Her chest depicted that of a person about to burst. I could literally see her upper body moving up and down, more like when a person is trying to prevent herself from queasiness.

“Do you know how you got it?” I asked and then later regretted posing that question because, before I could even conclude my probe, she had released one of the sharpest wails I have ever heard, the type of squeal we usually associate with people who have just been informed of the death of a loved one or of a serious calamity.

“Oh my God! Bertha please don’t cry like this, you’re scaring me,” I declared, troubled beyond measure.

“It was a nurse Pat, my home-girl; a nurse who hated me. When I went to deliver my son, she injected me…,” she mumbled, amidst her deafening screech. I froze and immediately experienced a mother of all headaches.

“A nurse!?” I asked, exclaiming at the same time. I couldn’t comprehend what my friend had just told me. I stopped asking her questions as I was now the one who was beginning to feel woozy – sick to my stomach from the reveal alone.

By this time, Bertha’s eyes had become swollen and fire red. She began trembling as I took my cellphone out from my handbag and called my husband, to establish as to how far he was at the time, as I had a crisis that needed immediate attention.

He told me that he had only then, fetched the kids from their respective schools (twenty kilometers apart) and that the traffic was very hectic. Naturally, he wanted to know what the problem was and I simply told him that my friend was unwell.

I had to think quickly because her flushed face was turning blue and her body was continuing to quiver. I told my husband that I was taking Bertha to the doctor around the corner and that he and the kids would find me there when they arrive. It was just a five minute walk.

As I was about to end the call with my husband, I could hear the kids in the background, asking him what was wrong. I could not hold on to listen to his response to the kids.

“Come… hold onto me, we are going to the doctor. Give me your bags,” I instructed, not at all awaiting any negative response from my friend.

“Pat, I don’t want to go to the doctor because my medical aid funds have been exhausted,” she cried out – wailed actually.

“It’s okay; please stop worrying so much, I’ll cover the charge. You cannot go home looking like this. All I can offer you at this stage are my shoulders. However, the doctors and nurses would know what to do to calm you down, both emotionally and physically, particularly due to your condition. As your friend, it hurts seeing you like this and I’m really of no use to you right now as I’m busy crying with you. Bertha, this hurts me, please let’s go.”

She looked at me and gave me a half smile, powerless to argue with me.

‘At least she’s smiling, even if it’s barely.’ I comforted myself.

My heart was aching terribly after her pronouncement earlier about how she got infected, even though she couldn’t mention exactly how that took place.

I told myself that perhaps she’d still tell me after much poise, even if it wouldn’t be the very same day or even that month. I wasn’t going to push further for more information at that time. I could just imagine how much it must have taken her to finally break her silence. It was lucid then, that someone or some people had abused their positions at the hospital. The bravado to do such a thing – how devilish can one be?

“Fine – let’s go then,” she cheekily spoke up, obscuring that half smile I saw a few moments ago from her face.

As we walked back into our company yard, two of our male colleagues saw us and immediately came rushing towards us.

“My Word! Pat, what’s the problem?”

“I need to take Bertha to the doctor around the corner,” I responded. “Please help us as she’s not looking too good as you can see,” I pleaded.

Without any hesitation, one of the gentlemen lifted Bertha up carrying her like a baby, imploring us to rush, while the other one took our heavy work bags.

The three of us had a small talk of concern, while I was trying my level best to maintain equanimity, eager for us to reach the doctor’s rooms before Bertha could blurt out to the guys what was wrong with her. For some reason, I felt the need to protect her, knowing that she was no longer herself at the time. I was also frightened by her unexpected lifeless body, scaring us terribly.

****

Arriving at the doctor’s rooms, our macho man rushed inside calling out for help, “DOCTOR PLEASE, DOCTOR! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!”

Awaiting patients raised their heads and those who had taken quick naps on the couches woke up - they had no choice as it had become noisy. Nurses and receptionists raised their eyebrows, showing signs of concern.

One of the nurses quickly brought us a wheelchair that was at the reception area. Thato, the Good Samaritan brother who had carried Bertha, carefully placed her on the wheelchair, as one nurse swiftly wheeled her into one of the doctors’ rooms.