“ARRGGHH!!!” (If only my scream was this Janded!!)
I screamed/cried at the top of my lungs. I had gone straight to the ugly cry no branching; imagine with me, the most blood curling, pain full, painful scream you have ever heard, that must’ve been what Mr. Man heard as he ran into the room to see me lying on the room floor crying. It was a Friday morning and I had just bumped my tiny toe against the edge of my bed (the pain can only be explained in Idoma). The pain was so bad and the wound so messy I bled all over the carpet and I cried so much, It hurt like hell but for the oddest reason Mr. Man decided I needed a scolding and proceeded to “inform” me to stop crying despite the pain I was obviously in. In fairness to him with me wailing like a child I can’t fault him for reverting to the role of the adult in that situationship.
I like to imagine I look like this when crying. Dainty and all…
“Stop crying now! Ahn-ahn!!” Mr. Man says “Just sit there and stop moving. You’re messing the whole place up with blood. Lower your voice.” These were some of the “quotes” my husband felt the need to use to calm me down. However being the 30 som’n year old woman and wife that I am I only cried harder because in all honesty the pain was too much to form words however my mind and eyes were spitting bile and daggers and in my mind I kept thinking and telling him; eyes and neck rolling with finger up black-american style. How dare you ?…..
- I am an adult grown ass woman. How dare you talk to me like that?
- I am your wife. How dare you talk to me like that?
- I am in extreme pain. How dare you talk to me like that?
- You are my husband. How dare you talk to me like that?
- Goodbye to TGIF. How dare you talk to me like that?
- How dare you talk to me like that?
I thought I was going to die. (Olivia pope where are you ohh!!) Fix this Jesus. I was going crazy, borderline paranoid.
Olivia failed me mehn!!!
The pain. Arrrgghh! My toe. More arrgghh!!! I yelled out like a banshee. It was mad painful but it was time for work so Mr. Man quickly got a little children’s plaster from the neighbours and tried to cover the wound. I told him the wound needed to be cleaned and disinfected but he wouldn’t listen and because it was so painful I couldn’t argue I simply let him do it so that I could rush of to work. I kept thinking to myself I am a doctor’s daughter I know these things but that was not the time. I tried to explain amidst the tears to this cutey pie I married, the dangers of not cleaning a wound properly but with my continous sobbing and magnanimous bleeding, I don’t think I was making any sense at the time so I just went with the flow. It certainly was a bad start to the weekend I tell ya.
FLASH BACK
Now let me take a quick trip down memory lane. I’m a Doctors daughter My father is a Nigerian Military Doctor which in my opinion trumps all other doctors because it’s one thing to be a doctor in an office, its another thing to be a doctor in the Nigerian atmosphere (that’s a whole other blog topic) and lastly it’s another thing to doctor in the midst of war i.e. under fire etc.… My father is all that and more. Smiles so proudly
Proud daughter
Now, fortunately or unfortunately (depending on how you look at it) medicine is not inherited via DNA this means I know almost absolutely nothing about medicine. I gag at the site of too much blood although I have an unusual fascination with boils, blackheads and cists but that’s as far as it goes. Anyways, In Nigeria where I grew up, if you have hung around doctors kids especially in secondary school, some of them like to play the “I know medicine” card. This means, a lot of them somehow believed they can had inherited the right to carryout diagnosis simply because their father/mother is a doctor. NOT ME.
No to self medication
I have NEVER been one of those girls in school who volunteered for Red Cross or tried to play mom or nurse far from it. I wanted to sing, dance and act and be taken care of and not be responsible for another person’s life. I assure you I am not the least bit interested in playing HERO or SHERO (depending on what is politically correct in your climate). I was not the “know it all” who told everybody how to treat themselves and I never self-medicate if I can help it. In fact, I was the total opposite because I am a doctor’s daughter. I will tell you why.
Lesson One
One time when I was about 5 years old my then best friend came for a sleep over. We were at the age where we had both started losing our teeth and I think we got into a fight and I knocked her teeth out (Lol! I was all sorts of rascally but honestly I can’t remember the full details). Anyways I do remember that the adults were not in and my 12 yr. old older sister was left to babysit. So there she was stuck with my other sibling and two crying 5 year olds trying to explain who was to blame and still fighting…… you get the gist….. My big sister in typical “I am a doctor’s daughter mode” proceeded to administer “children’s Panadol” (do they still make those?) to help her with the headache she had complained of. A few hours later my best friend breaks out in a rash and starts to itch. We had no idea what caused it, the house help suggested it may be groundnut oil she was reacting to ‘cos she had seen that occur before. However, we were still not sure and so we panicked and waited for the adults to return.
Poor child
As God would have it my best friends mom decided to call to check on her before going to bed and to cut a long story short my best friend was allergic to Panadol and paracetamol and had an alternative drug she usually took for pain. When my dad came back we were warned sternly to NEVER administer drugs without an adult present. That was my first lesson in not playing Doctor.
Lesson Two
Another time. When I was about six years old (I know I my husband always says I have amazing memory) I had started developing slight signs of asthma and my dad decided to get me Ventolin tablets and I reacted really badly to them. He eventually got me a Ventolin inhaler and I was good. At about age 12 I was in boarding school and a classmate suggested that if I used the Ventolin tablets instead of the inhaler I wouldn’t have to carry the inhaler around. I thought that was a smart idea. Needless to say I reacted really badly and almost ruined my life. 
Asthma and its struggles
That was my lesson in “Not letting others play doctor for me”
Lesson Three
My final and most painful lesson was a fatal lesson. I won’t give too many details but a certain child relative of mine was ill and was taken to an untrained nurse. This nurse administered adult dosages to this poor child and within hours a slight fever became a death. The only reason this was eventually figured out was because my dad as a doctor knew the questions to ask and was the one that discovered that that poor child had been wrongly treated. That was my lesson in not allowing untrained persons play Doctor with me.
Quack Doctors abound
The summary of these lessons is the fact that I know better than to think that I can learn or know by association with doctors, what it took years of lessons and books and medical school to learn. I do not joke around with the hazards of medicine because as a doctors daughter I have seen, experienced, been warned and taught not assume or pretend to know what a doctor knows and because I am a goody two shoes I obey.
All that being said, there is one aspect of medicine I can beat my chest and say I know how to handle by up to about 90%.“Flesh wounds” this is because as a child I had a gazillion flesh wounds and I had learn shown the first aid and rudiments of taking care of wounds.
So I got to work with a limp and plaster, hobbled and wobbled through the day and returned home in the evening and all was well with the world or so I thought. Time for bed I wanted to clean this stupid injury and sleep so I set up the disinfectant and was rushing back into the room to get cotton wool and the unthinkable happened. I stubbed my toe again in the same place. This time I saw Jesus and Elijah.
Hubby was in the living room rushed back into the room saw me lying on the floor blood everywhere, I’m crying much more than I did in the morning, I would like to think its all the anxiety from seeing so much blood. Anyways, he starts to yell at me again, and this time I respond……