Notes from hell
CHIKECHICHICHICHICHIKHIKHIKHIKECHIKECHIKECHIKECHIKE
Nurse Nightingale asked me who you were again today, Chike. I didn’t answer. She told me to blink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no. Then she asked again. “Is he your best friend? Your brother? Your co-worker?”
I held her gaze unblinking for a long time; after, I looked away.
We both know that you’re none of these to me, Chike.
At least, not anymore.
Are you congratulating yourself, Chike? Two weeks in here is an accomplishment.
The pain’s not getting any worse but it’s hard to ignore.
I feel it when I breathe.
I see the pitiful and horrifying looks of the staff.
I suspect I look like a character from the zombie apocalypse.
Only staff with strong stomachs can attend to me. Staff like Nurse Nightingale whom I’m yet to see flinch when she’s beside me.
Whose soothing hands and voice play a big role when I’m bawling during treatment.
Yeah, Chike, second-degree burns made me a screamer.
They said I’m sleeping better now, and it’s good for my vitals, my healing.
There’re rumours that they might move me out of here.
Whatever.
As long as I’m not the freak show to the other patients, Nurse Nightingale can still attend to me.
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I know now that I’m an odd sight, but I don’t care.
I can’t talk yet and don’t know if I’ll regain my speaking function. So it’s a lot of thoughts and a bit of writing for me. They’re kind of therapeutic.
Confined to a bed 24/7 with limited mobility on one side of my body is like solitary incarceration. The difference is the view and the people.
I have a lot of time to think and to write a little with my good hand. The staff encourages me to do it as often as I can.
I don’t know if this means that you’re lucky, Chike.
Chikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechike
My treatment was. . . especially brutal this morning.
When I screamed in reaction, I heard myself sound inhumane. Like a wounded and trapped bear. I’m a severely wounded and trapped person.
But beneath all that yelling, it’s your name I’m shouting. Chikechikechikeee.
So that I don’t forget how I got here and who’s responsible for turning me into a disfigured, grotesque figure. Chikechikechikeeechikechikechikechikee
Nurse Nightingale raised the matter of visitors once again.
I don’t know what part of ‘no’ she doesn’t understand. The ’n’ or the ‘o’?
I don’t want anyone I know to see me like this.
I don’t want to see myself through their eyes.
I don’t want to hear anything about you.
Not yet, at least.
Sunday’s usually an alternation between Christian and Muslim messages on some staff’s radio. Today, I heard no Muslim chants or messages. Only Christian preaching.
Why didn’t someone change the station or turn it off?
The message grated on my last nerve.
The speaker wouldn’t shut up about forgiveness. How God forgave. How Jesus forgave. How man should practice constant forgiveness, blah, blah, blah.
I’m not God or Jesus. They must forgive. Man is flawed; it is his duty to make mistakes whether premeditated or accidental.
Chikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechikechike.
It might take months or even years before I’m restored to normalcy. Before I re-enter society and build my life back. But make no mistake about this, Chike, I’ll get my revenge on you in this lifetime, my brother.
