Nobody gives a damn about the sick
November 4th, 2011
Nothing is as demobilising as the illness of a relative. I had one such experience in the past month.
A cousin of mine called, Dumi, was seriously ill, and could not eat because he had a colonic tumour. At first, when he was admitted to the Hospital, we thought he was going to be treated expeditiously. But Dumi was to spend 11 days without receiving any attention from a doctor. Even a hello was scarce. When my auntie eventually managed to bulldoze her way in and complain about the lack of attention, the doctor responsible said he wanted to know his medical history. So we went to the medical centre where we extracted initial tests done in an operation in 2009. We gave the doctors all the records from 2009. Then they said they wanted to get a biopsy from the colon so that they could test and see what really the problem was.
After surgery, Dumi was badly stitched and we could see part of his intestines peeping through the stitches. Over three weeks from his admission had passed and Dumi was not eating. A drip, which the nurses struggled to insert was finally administered to prevent him starving.
After waiting for the doctors to do something, it became clear that they were not going to be of any help, except watch Dumi die. A referral to a private hospital meant that we had to sell our limbs to afford the costs of hiring a surgeon. So, we decided that it was better to change to a hospital in a larger town. The doctors were not happy about approving a transfer, but we finally got one.
Auntie brought Dumi to my house until we could find our own transport to move him. Finally a taxi driver agreed and we collected him. In the taxi I held him close to me because he was frail. I did not want him to fall. But he was not stable and I noticed a stiffening of the fingers on his right hand. So I stretched his hand to make it straight. He sighed heavily. On the seat, he would not sit straight so we agreed that we should put him in the front seat of the car, where there was no one to disturb him. I secured the seat belt and fastened it around him as the rules require. This time, he behaved differently. His eyes started rolling in a hapless manner. He became inaudible in speech, and terrified auntie who was standing next to me. The driver called out to me to remove him from the car. This time he did not volunteer to help carry the patient, but commanded me to remove Dumi from the car. My yard is not fenced so passersby can see everything that is happening inside the perimeter fence.
I hoped that if Dumi was to die, it would not be on the hard dirty ground, which had a carpet of Jacaranda flowers. Instead I opted to carry him into the house, away from the public so that he could die on my favourite couch. I gathered strength, and the spirit of the biblical Samson possessed me for a short while and I carried him, from the car round the kitchen door, into the house, turned right and straight to the couch in my living room.
We were losing Dumi. One could tell from the faint response he gave and his eyes were shutting. I laid him on the couch and Auntie who perhaps has seen such pitiful scenes before, began to talk in a mourner’s tone. Then Dumi breathed his last, and Auntie began to mourn.
I will not talk about the funeral save to say that the people who talk about HIV and AIDS a lot have not seen this monster called cancer. The disease is relentless. At least with HIV one can adjust the diet, have therapies, take ARVs and abstain as a way of controlling the illness. With cancer it is different. It eats you up continuously without rest. In the end Dumi did not die of the disease. He died of hunger because he had not been able to eat. His intestines were blocked by this gigantic tumour, which the doctors said was far bigger than the one they removed in 2009.
I am still in a state of shock but hope that by talking about the death, I may be assisted to get over the scare of seeing someone lose their life in front of your eyes.
