I’m sitting in a hospital waiting room waiting for my blood test results. They have the AC cranked up so high, I’m wondering why I didn’t carry a sweater. Oh yeah! Maybe its that tiny fact that this is Mombasa, known for its sweltering temperatures.
I’m not big on hospitals. Never have been. I’ve been here now and again for the occasional flu and then there was the time I landed on a glass. No, not glass as you have thought to be grammatically correct. A Glass. In a sentence, ‘a glass of water’.
Long story short, I jumped from the second bunk and crushed a glass under my foot.
I remember sobbing in the waiting room and having folks hold me down as the pieces of glass were being removed. To date, I get a sick feeling in my stomach every time I enter that wing.
I can literally count the number of times I have gone to see a doctor alone ( this clocks 2). My mum actually asked my dad if I’m still young enough to see a paediatrician….. no Mum, I’m not. I suppose I should feel all grown up now with neither of my parents flanking my side, but I don’t. I just feel cold and hungry.