Until it happens to you...

Saturday, June 4th 2022.

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I thought hard about whether I should write today or not. In truth, I didn't want to write. Something happened at dusk; which was a couple hours ago, and it made me worry, to say the least.

You might ask, what happened that spoiled my mood?

I'll just say it the way it is.

My Uncle's been hospitalized! I know... I know that the first thing that comes to mind after anybody says anything like that, means either the patient's illness is a really serious one, or that he/she may be spending quite a lot of time in the hospital ward. It's not a serious one. But, that doesn't mean I shouldn't worry.

I hate hospitals! I hate going there. I hate the sickening smell. I hate everything about it. I don't think I've talked about my reason for hating them. But, I'm certain I mentioned it once here.

Perhaps, the time has come to share something that happened to me a long time ago. One which I've kept hidden from a number of people. (Except my parents and siblings knows this, cos' it happened when I was very little).

So, years ago... When I was four. (Maybe five?). I injured my left arm while I played in class. After closing hours I was taken home with the school bus. They dropped me off with my Mom, and get this... They never mentioned what happened to me hours before!

A couple days later, Mom noticed that I had a terrible fever. So, she thought about going to clean me up in the bathroom before tucking me in bed to rest, and take medication. She soon found out that i couldn't lift the said arm and, she immediately called my Dad's attention to it. They decided to take me to a private hospital where they only injected the arm without a proper inspection. Again, they never examined me, or look for the cause!

I was taken home, and after a while Mom discovered that my arm had stiffened!

A result of an injection that was bombarded on the poor arm.

If it wasn't for my Mom's quick thinking and, ingenuity... I wouldn't have been able to use that arm. I was taken to a retired medical practitioner, who did what he could and in six months I was able to make good use of my left arm.

Now, because of what happened Dad removed from that school. They had a fault, which was that they failed to employ someone competent for a job so delicate. I was a kid, it could've been worse. What if things had gone terribly wrong? Would they take responsibility for their actions, or not? And, the hospital... Why on Earth would they not examine, and find a cause for an ailment before deciding to use an injection? Why didn't they do their job?

These questions barraged my thoughts, and many times I have tried to break out of it.

That wasn't the first occurrence. There have been more after...! I understand that not all hospitals are the same. But, it seems there just a few dutiful ones around.

I have come to distrust them. And, now my Uncle is unwell. I couldn't visit him. Dad went alone. Although he brought back good news of his growing recovery. Still, I can only pray he gets better for every second he spends there.

And so that's why I don't trust hospitals.

Perhaps, in the latter future I could come to have a change of heart. I'll see about that.

People tell me off, sometimes, but I don't blame them really. They give solid points about certain facts.

However, I'm curious... would you have done any differently from me?

I'm utterly open to your opinion.

Thank you for reading.

Until we meet again.

💐