The fourth
I am lying on a beach bed somewhere, watching the sun set with casual elegance and drinking wine from a perspiring glass. Beside me are my two girlfriends, each of us speaking in silence. The beach bed is huge, it can comfortably accommodate four, but we are just three. The fourth having received a call that none of us heard.
This trip was long overdue. The kind that you plan and plan but never quite get round to, until last July when finally everything was aligned. For once the four of us had our leave days synchronised; we booked a beautiful villa and visas were granted for those who needed them. Except we didn’t go. Because we were broken. And I remember the events as if it were yesterday.
August 2019.
The curtain shrieked when I pulled it open as if I owned the place. The room was a flurry of activity. “Another round of Epi,” the doctor ordered the nurse. “Continue compressions.” He turned and told another.
This was not new territory. The scene of patient resuscitation in a busy ICU. To an outsider it looked like a roomful of intertwined thread. But to a medic, there was protocol and coordination to the process. There was always a team leader, the doctor, who would issue instructions to different members of the team. He had the most difficult job. He had to think ahead based on what was happening and make a decision. It needed a clear mind and a steady heart. There was no room for delay, no room for second guessing.
They were so busy; so focused on their work, they didn’t see me standing there. I tried to take it all in as I willed myself to look at her. She was like a puppet, being pricked, prodded and shocked by the master — yet she didn’t seem to respond. I instinctively turned away and ran out. Maybe if I ran far enough the situation would correct itself.
I realized I was nodding my head in denial because my neck began to hurt. I followed my feet to wherever they were taking me — trying not to panic while panicking. I took out my phone and dialed a close friend(one of the four). She picked on the third ring. I communicated to her in continuous, long, protracted screams. And so for one minute I did nothing except regurgitate my soul. Then I hang up — leaving her questions unanswered.
There was a stone cold bench right next. I knelt on it and looked over the ledge. It was quiet out there. Not many people up and about as it was the night of the national census. The irony of life slapped me as I leaned forward to take in some air. That a friend I was laughing with only twenty four hours ago was now in a tug of war with life. ‘God help her win,’ I whispered as I began to wail again.
Three ladies who saw me run out had followed me; probably guided by the loud cries.
“Have you lost someone?” One asked.
“I don’t know. I..”
She held my hand and they began to pray. Strangers, who had also come to see a patient of their own, sat with me and took turns to pray. After that we all sat in silence, pondering the finite journey of life.
It was a while before I composed myself and walked back alone in a dull trance. It had to be good news — I thought — because no one had called me to say otherwise.
I peered through the ICU door and saw my husband in deep conversation with one of the doctors. I walked in slowly trying to decipher the content of their exchange. I got to where they were and overhead him say, “She was so full of life….”and I knew she had lost the war. The realisation hit me with the pain of a fresh wound.
In a state of disbelief I walked into her room. There she was asleep. The machines still beeping, the tubes still in place. She must have just left us. There were two other people in the room, crying in deep anguish. One was stroking her head, mumbling all sorts of things. The other was holding her hand, staring at her well manicured nails. She, was on a tirade of regret wishing she had done this or the other. I stood still and watched. This felt like an out of body experience.
Just yesterday when we were wagging our tongues, gossiping and joking around, she did say in passing that her chest was aching. She said it amidst fluid conversation so it went unnoticed. Later on as the day progressed, she said it again, “Ouch! Sue, I have this sharp pain in my chest,” as she bent over clutching her mid chest. She had had a history of gastritis and we both alluded to that. We eventually called in early, promising to see each other on Sunday at a wedding. Then this.
I am told later that evening, she became increasingly unwell. She went to a nearby hospital where they diagnosed pneumonia and put her on antibiotics. In the morning, she was no better and could not even dress herself. She opted to go back for treatment; only to a bigger hospital. It was there that she collapsed and despite every resuscitative efforts, she didn’t make it.
What followed were periods of denial, shock, anger; repeat. Everyone was captured in a whirlwind of emotions. Mostly disbelief. I found it difficult to come to terms with the fact that she complained of the very symptoms that escorted her to her grave and I missed it. A dark cloud of failure and guilt embraced me. Talk about compounded grief.
If you knew *Taji, you would understand why. She clothed herself with beauty that could only have come from within. She was a bag of oxymorons. Calm yet spirited, seriously funny, painfully beautiful. And boy did she live. A soul that was present in the moment and didn’t take herself too seriously. A last born per excellence. We called her , “Chogo min ohero.”She never had a bad hair day or a bad anything day. She had impeccable taste and loved the good things in life. She had high expectations of herself and inspired others to esteem themselves highly. She treated herself and others with respect. One might even mistake her to be lofty yet she was such a humble soul.
It was later confirmed from a postmortem that she died of a pulmonary embolism — the silent killer that steals. A shower of blood clots was found in her lungs with an even larger one in her right leg. The scariest thing was there were no warning signs, no preceding events, no preamble.
In a previous story I did, (https://medium.com/@medroomeyes/ticking time bomb) I wrote about a good friend with the same condition. Only she walked around with it for a whole month and eventually got diagnosed and was treated. Taji was not so lucky.
Sitting now by the beach, on a holiday she was to come for, we cant help but realise that when God calls you, you can’t not answer. When your phone rings and God is on the other side of the line, you pick. It doesn’t matter what time it is, whether you are in the middle of a high stakes meeting, bonding with your family, laughing with friends or making love to your spouse — when the call comes, it comes.
There is no reverse call. You can’t put the phone on hold, you can’t ask someone to pick the call on your behalf. It’s a call only you can hear and when your number is up, it’s up.
Pulmonary embolism is an acute, life threatening emergency, requiring urgent medical attention.
Some known risk factors are: being female, obesity, smoking, pregnancy, trauma, inherited clotting disorders, oral contraceptive pills, previous surgery and cancers.
It is usually preceded by a blood clot in one of the lower limbs, which may present with leg pain, redness and/ or swelling. In some cases, these symptoms may be absent.
Most cases are asymptomatic but a good number are fatal and end up being diagnosed post humous.
RIP Dear friend. The song ended but your melody lingers on.
