We had quite a smooth trip after which we arrived at the hospital around 10:30 a.m. I remember thinking, we are only thirty minutes late, that’s got to be some kind of record I’ve made(I’m always late, which makes everyone late) However, just as we were about to get in the hospital, we got the shock of a lifetime. We had left behind the most important documents of all. Well, not literal documents–the CT and MRI scans. This is what would have been referred to as a classic Joyce move, had I been the one given the responsibility to carry the images. I still don’t understand how the images were left behind. But in hindsight, I believe that it was really God’s way of showing us that–like my mother had said before–everything was happening just as He had planned.
Despite our disappointment, we really had to think fast, and organized for the images to be sent through a matatu. This would take 3 hours for us to get them but what choice did we have? Also, coincidentally that day, Dr. F.Koech, the one my mother had an appointment with, was running late. Now this was a blessing in disguise, and part of God’s plan, because we could not see him without the scans. Three hours past and the driver said he was still on his way. Apparently, there was a lot of traffic jam as the road was under construction. At this point we had started to panic because doctor F.Koech had arrived. But who is God? Turned out he first had to go round the wards checking on the other patients and possibly discharging those he deemed fit. I must say that, the wait had become too long that we had started to get sceptical about the efficiency of the hospital. But it’s just because we were anxious and scared of history repeating itself–shame on us for doubting them.
In an hour’s time, we already had the images and we were carefully directed to the waiting room–just me and my mother. There were quite a number of people waiting which was sad because they all had the big CT and MRI scans. It was sad because I realized just how many people are dealing with health issues everyday, and just how far some travel to find medical help. Seeing my mom, the nurse who took her blood pressure was so sympathetic. She pulled me to the side and told me, “I really wish you could see the doctor first, but it will be unfair since the others have also waited, seeing that he was late today.” However, she told me that after the first five patients went in, she would squeeze us in. And to her word, she did. That meant that in less than 30 minutes after the scans arrived, it was our turn to see the doctor. 😊
Finally, he sighed, looked at my mother and asked, “Mama you mean all this time you have not been helped?” “naona umesumbuka na umezunguka sana,” he added. He then finished with, “Lakini usijali, umefika.”
At this point I really had to ask whether he could help her just to be sure, and he said yes. Again he rechecked the images (which I loved, because it showed he really was being meticulous in his work). The interesting thing was that he never even once examined my mom. Nothing, he just carefully analyzed the images. After around 15 minutes, he now started explaining to us, her exact condition and what really needed to be done to treat her. He told us that as a neurosurgeon he would be the main surgeon, but her tumour covered other areas. Thus, he needed a team of surgeons; an eye surgeon, an ENT surgeon, and a beautician (I intentionally avoided using their professional names since this isn’t a medical blog). My mother was shook when he heard this because she had heard it before in her previous hospital and it had taken a year. But to our surprise, Dr. Koech started making the phone calls immediately. My mother and I were in total bewilderment when he said that she could even have the surgery that night! I mean literally, “tulikua tumefika.”
Sadly, the ENT specialist was not available as he was scheduled for another surgery later that night. However, he promised to be fully available the following day. By this time, it was around 5 p.m. so we really did not mind waiting until the following day. I mean, my mother had waited a whole year! Plus, actually it was for the better, so that we’d all have settled in and rested from the journey. We thanked Dr. Koech and headed to the admission desk where he directed us.
The following day, February 19th, we were told by the hospital that my mother would need at least 12 pints of blood for her surgery. This meant that we had to find donors so that the world blood bank would provide the paints of blood. Remember my brother and I had never once, set foot in Eldoret. Luckily, Leroy’s dad had, and his cousin-brother was fortunately in Eldoret. We then called my cousin who called some of her friends to come donate–she had schooled in Eldoret and pretty much grown up there. God was seriously overseeing everything for us because when we could not find enough people to donate—some of us were deemed ineligible to donate–we were given an exception.
Finally, around 3 p.m, my mother was wheeled into the theatre room, and we did not see her until the following day. Get this, my brother and I were the signatories to her surgery. I know I’m a mother, but that has to be the most “adult” responsibility ever. During the surgery, my brother and I stayed outside the hospital, trying as much as we could to avoid that discussion–I honestly think distraction is the best way to handle tough situations. Still, it was hard to avoid the many calls which kept coming in, especially on mom’s phone.
At around 9 p.m, one nurse came and told me that my mother was out of surgery and had been wheeled to the I.C.U and we could see her the following morning (I was the only one allowed to sleep in the hospital, as the caretaker) She said it with a smile so even though she didn’t tell me, I knew the surgery was a success. I called everyone who had contacted me, informed them and finally I could sleep.
The following morning my brother was at the hospital by 6:30 a.m. and fifteen minutes later we went to see her. Miraculously, she was already awake, and the swelling, was gone! We could barely acknowledge the bandage on her head, nor the discomfort she must have been in from excitement. She was back to her “old self.’’ Believe me, it was almost unreal! The good thing was that she was not in pain as the stitched part was still numb, and she was under heavy pain medication.
The third day, she was stable and she was transferred to the ward. At least there, I’d keep her company so she wouldn’t get bored. We stayed at the hospital for ten days through which we were treated with uttermost professionalism, hospitality and kindness. By the time we were discharged, my mother might not have been fully healed, but her improvement was nothing short of a miracle. And for that, we’ll forever be grateful to God, and the entire Tophill hospital fraternity. Because that is where we got help.
One year later, my mother is doing so much better and resuming her normal life 😊
❤❤❤❤
Nyambura Macharia
