I was driving to midweek service yesterday night in my little engine that could, Lady Bird a.k.a Beau a.k.a “KEKENAPEP the remix”. Yesterday was a bit of a difficult day for me thanks to some emotional clobbering and battered -pride issues I was dealing with. In fact, as soon as I’m done typing I shall return to gluing my pride back together again. #NoHumptyDumptyOutchea. ANYWAY heart matters aside, as I drove a memory flitted past; THAT illness.

Most Nigerian children in my generation know to begin a good story with the preamble, “Story storyyyyyy? [Ans: STORY!]. Once upon a time…..[Ans: TIME, TIME!!!]…”

….around October last year, soon after I moved into my (terribly cute) little flat, I started feeling intensely weak. In addition, my skin began manifesting the stress I felt inside; I had these stress-inspired skin irritations that were only exacerbated by the polluted water in my Lekki home. I seemed to wake up tired no matter how long I slept. I wasn’t sleeping that much anyways, with the Lagos commute and two year traffic on the daily (Lagos is a hustle y’all!). But yeah, I found myself increasingly tired.

And unhappy. I didn’t like the work I did, couldn’t focus on it and effectively sometimes ended up turning in mediocre work. *Shudders*. But I couldn’t care and that’s how far down I had gone; I no longer took pride in my work. In addition, the little people in my head..and hands…and chest…and oh hell, all my white blood cells were screaming, “We dey strike, we dey strike! All Stress, No Play…E No Pay!” Or something liked that. My body was beaten. In true Wendelyn style though, I trudged on, certain that all I needed was a long restful weekend to recover and magically morph back into myself.

“Everyone had always relied on her because she was so capable but she had started to feel a bit trapped and little lonely in her self-appointed role of “Super Woman”. She decided to practice setting gentle boundaries. At first it was uncomfortable. But soon, she realized that in taking back her power she was also returning powert to everyone around her.”
-Queenisms.

Yesterday as I drove, I remembered how often I would fall asleep on the wheel of my car. Yes, really. Me, the woman that never ever fell asleep in one class because I actually find it hard to doze off when surrounded by noise. I slept while driving and I’m not talking about just in traffic! My car would be moving at a decent speed, but I’d be so weak that I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes open. But did I think I was sick? Not ever; “…just tired”, “…simply stressed”, “…a little overworked”, “…slightly unhappy.” I didn’t tell anyone. I felt a little ashamed about not being able to get myself together. Falling asleep while driving….?!

I was ill. Gravely so (pun intended).

Things almost came to a head one day as I drove my little cousin back to mine where he was spending the weekend. As we drove into my area, my Eyelids won the battle against my Will and closed quietly, promising me a little respite from the bright lights of the opposing cars. I dozed, accelerator steadily increasing in speed, speedometer caressing a rounded 50. At a certain distance, by habit, I veered left as though turning into my house’s gate. A horn’s blare woke me up to the fact that…I had just turned horizontally in the middle of a busy street. No warning, no preparation. Just me, Wendelyn, Beau and Little P, blocking the entire street for no justifiable reason. I shudder to think what might have happened if the street was not at that very moment almost deserted.

And I still did not think I was ill. I really thought I was merely tired.

As I drove into church yesterday evening, I thought again of Jeremiah’s words,

“It is only because of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed.”-Jeremiah 3:22

During my interviews for my current job, I was in the throes of this same illness; fevered and in the incubating phase of a cough so deep it seemed to come from a man much bigger than I. At my final interview, I had to ask my interviewers to permit any random cough outbreak my body may prompt. These coughs were chesty, deep, seeming to come from some beast restive beneath my stomach muscles. Great, heaving coughs I couldn’t control…on and on and on they seemed to go whenever they began, seizing my body and racking my chest.

Final interview finished on Friday, I really wanted the job! On Monday after, I returned to work…but before lunch time, the beast arose for it’s final votive offering. The coughing made my head light. Despite my sunken eyes, my boss asked me to rest in the bedroom for a few minutes and return to work. I know now that if I had not argued that instruction, I would have lain there progressively worse, until the next day. I couldn’t take myself home. But, I wasn’t ill, just tired. I went to my aunty’s house next door. In the middle of the maid’s welcome, my eyes grew dim. I was burning, from the inside. (I can’t do hell, guys. Nah, that burn hurt like, well like hell will tbh).

I don’t know how I got to the bedroom but I wouldn’t wake up for hours.

Ok, I admitted to myself. I have malaria. Big deal, I will drive home.

That drive home is one of my worst memories of all 27 years. Parking by the side of the road every few metres to pry myself up on the driver’s seat and keep my eyes open. I remember saying to God, “if you keep me alive until I get home, I will owe you forever!” I was a road hazard that night. Terrified in equal parts to either fall asleep on the road or be assaulted by robbers for parking on the quiet side street; lone woman, driving alone at almost midnight.

You see, I in my intelligence and perceived strength was determined to go back home despite the maid’s protest (my aunty was away) that I remain at theirs.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Until I wasn’t.

I got home in one piece, although all I could think that night was surviving through the night. “That’s all I want God, I promise I will go to the hospital and sort out this malaria! I won’t self-meditate with those quick-fix malaria remedies pharmacies tout! Just keep me till morning!”

The next day, I got into Ladybird and drove to the nearest clinic I knew. I remember walking into the clinic and being so elated. A real oasis for the desert nomad, “They can help me here.”

I felt so poorly, that the nurse’s exclamation at recording my 47kg weight didn’t register. I vaguely remember thinking, “When did that happen?” The subsequent jabs were welcome despite my chronic fear of needles, I was too weak to turn my torch in and discover where I hid my tears.

The test results were returned. The doctor quietly explained that I would have to be admitted to the hospital.

“Oh that’s quite ok, I can take my malaria drugs at home thanks!” I was just happy I was getting proper medical care.

Until I looked at his face. He was staring incredulously at me as I spoke.

“Malaria?!”

He turned my test results to me. There are traces of malaria and typhoid in your system yes, but the main thing is your blood is infected!”

Uhhhhm QQQKKKWHAT?!

My face crumpled. “It’s not malaria then?”

He actually laughed. “No, it’s not.”

I refused to stay overnight at the clinic, he refused to let me go home. We settled on a temporary compromise, “Stay until you’ve rested,”

Clever Barbie him! I lay down and when I woke up it was night time. The main doctor came round with the results of some more comprehensive tests and quietly explained what was happening inside my body. She said, my tests showed that I had pneumonia (I never know which, it started with her saying pneumonia and then bronchitis after an X-ray was returned). The infection in my system had occurred because my immunity was so low, that my body was more receptive to disease than normal. Blood can become infected when an organ is infected, which explained the sepsis. Malaria and typhoid were lying dormant…until immunity levels dropped enough for them to pull out the party hats and get it on…in my body. With white blood cell counts above 20 (regular being 8, 11 being the standard for the sick), she was really concerned. My body was fighting against too many infections, for too long…until it was overwhelmed and simply crashed. Oh and the chest infection triggered a long-forgotten childhood asthma’s return. Fun.

“This didn’t happen in a day. Your body has been steadily breaking down. Your body has been TELLING YOU it was steadily breaking down, Wendy.” –The Doc

*Stares at toes*

I remember ringing my sister Anita a day or two into my hospital stay, I was crying because I was so frustrated. I was in so much pain, injections in every space with a vein it seemed. My bum, which doesn’t even have the mass for that sort of thing, was heavily punctured and eventually relegated in place of wrists, crook of arm and back of palm. It felt like every vein was attacked. I felt like a throbbing ball of pain. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I was fevered, I was tired, I was terrified. My bones pronounced, my eyeballs sunken. My heart weary.

My friends, excellent. My parents exceptional. My sisters, wonderful.

The consistent barrage of visitors had the nurses quite certain that I ran a school for good-looking youth. Lol. My bosses came to visit the day after I returned home to recuperate and in true Nigerian style, were told that I had left with “…one of her [my] boyfriends”. Lol. You never know who’s judging, y’all!

I thought of all of that as I drove to church yesterday; that tiring, steady road to recovery. My parent’s panic, the fear in my sisters’ voice; Anita was calling her impressive array of doctor friends, reading every Google article said about each symptom, the continuous and unrelenting care from my friends; Aima, Emi and Youlee’s infamous chicken peppersoup, Tolu’s boxes of untouched pizza, Tomi trying to pack a bag for my hospital stay and being confused at the excruciatingly careful organisation of my underwear closet, Ant’s 3 hour journey to hold my hand for 15 minutes.

I am blessed.

I realized yesterday, just how thoroughly God KEPT me. I love that word,

‘Kept’.

Kept; like a kept woman (Ha!), retained for His pleasure, separated from the norm, covered, cherished.

God has been incredibly good to me, it’s so weird how quickly I forget.