Date: Mon, 24 Feb 2014 20:35:46 -0500
From: Mthobisi Sibandze <mthobisi.sibandze@gmail.com>
Subject: Maybe it is worth it chapter 1

Chapter 1

I was lying on a hospital bed. I was in the ER. I had no idea what had
happened. What momentous occurrence had so threatened the mortal vessel in
which my once-precious mind is ensconced?

As I was about to hit the call button, a nurse walked in and I raised my
left arm in an attempt to wave to her but a sharp pain caused me to drop my
arm instantly. Ah of course I had a drip tube sticking out from my arm.

"May I help you sir?" she asked.

"...." I tried to speak but my mouth and throat were so dry I could not
produce any sound. After forcing some saliva down to lubricate my throat I
asked, "What happened to me? And may I have some water please."

She regarded me with such soft, caring eyes and it is this, I believe, that
brought the shock of waking up in a hospital all alone to the fore. There
were no loved ones sitting by my bedside. Before she could respond, I
started to cry uncontrollably. I tried to hold it in but I was soon sobbing
and I could feel panic gripping my insides. I couldn't breathe. I felt like
I was being smothered. My heart was racing. I was terrified. I was
trembling and clinging on to the nurse with my left arm.

I think she realised I was having a panic attack and she started stroking
my hair.

"Breathe, honey," she said. "I'm right here. Take deep breaths. You will be
fine," she comforted me.

I did as she advised. I was no stranger to panic attacks, but it had been a
couple of months since I'd had one. The trembling was now under control and
I could breathe without feeling as though I was suffocating. Just then a
doctor walked in and drew the curtains around my bed. He walked over to me
already reading whatever notes were on his clipboard.

"Hello Armel," he said.

"I prefer Felix - my middle name," I said without thinking, having repeated
this line for the past 9 years.

 "Felix it is then! Well, Felix we think you had a seizure. Our emergency
team was called by one of your friends you were with when it happened and
they brought you here half an hour ago as you were just starting to come
around. Can you tell me how old you are - for legal reasons?"

What friends? I wondered.

"I'm 19" I responded automatically.

"Date of birth?"

"The 3rd of October 1994."

"Height?"

"1.72 metres...or about 5'8'' in 'American'"

"Weight?"

"55kg. Multiply by 2.2 to convert to pounds"

He looked at me and smiled.  I found nothing amusing. I was trying to
remember how I had ended up here; unfortunately I never remembered the all
events that led to my seizure.

It had been a warm spring day and I was sitting on one of many benches
scattered across our beautiful campus. I had been on my computer shopping,
without a doubt, for more books. I spent all my money on books. I had been
listening to my new favourite violin concerto in G minor by Bruch. Then a
black hole - where neither time nor space exists. I vaguely remember being
hauled onto a stretcher and into the back of an ambulance. Then another
black hole. It seems though that I did come out of that black hole, albeit
in a more mangled form as Hawking recently suggested in a very brief paper.

I had a CAT scan, an MRI, an EKG and a blood test before my residence hall
counsellor (RHC) came to pick me up after being discharged.  I was very
distant and felt quite detached from my body and disconnected from the
world - as though I were a small piece of clay suspended in a river or
ocean just going along where the current took me.

My RHC took me up to my room and asked me if I needed anything. I said no,
and that I was very happy to have her as a RHC. I thanked her profusely for
driving me from the hospital back to college. She miraculously had my
laptop, wallet, phone and bag which I had with me before I had my
seizure. After she left I stripped off my clothes very slowly, still in a
sort of daze, and got into bed even though it was only 18h00.

I wanted to just take a double dose of my clonazepam which would send me
straight to sleep. But I was too tired to move and most importantly, I
wanted to torture myself as was my nightly routine. I started, as always,
with my biological mother leaving me with my grandparents while she married
another man. While this is frighteningly common in African society, the
agony of it on the child is excruciating. I remembered how abandoned I
felt.

Then I remembered that day - the 24th of November. That is when she
died. She stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating and her brain cells
shut down. That was one of the worst days of my life, but certainly not the
worst.

 I never knew my biological father, who apparently fled before I was even
born.  And he died on the 9th of September, a year after my mother died. I
always tried to understand why he left me. Why they both left me. Back when
I was unenlightened I always thought it was God's way of shielding them
both from the abomination that I was to become.

I remembered how I had to take charge of my life from the age of 10 because
my grandmother was too absorbed by her own grief to know that I needed
support and care. She loved me, of that I am sure but she had just lost a
daughter. I used to cry myself to sleep every night, with no one to share
my pain with.

I then remembered how I was carelessly shipped off after my mother's death
to visit relatives. I remembered Him very clearly. I had been drawn to
Him. Not in a sexual way - I was only 10. He made me feel safe and that I
mattered but I never expected Him to do what He did. I suppose it was only
fair; I fed off Him emotionally as a trusted older cousin and so he
deserved something in return.  And He got it. He violated my innocence and
took my virginity. I was only 10. And barely a month had passed since my
mother had died. But I never protested or screamed. I allowed Him to have
His way with me. I thought he cared, but after I left he never wanted
anything to do with me. Not a word from Him for the past 9 years. He hurt
me very badly. Not so much by his furious lust, but the manner in which he
tossed me out of His life like I was an overused and torn blow up doll.

Reliving these memories made real the feelings of the absurdity of life,
the uncaring universe that is deaf to our cries and protests. And it was to
these memories, serving as a dissonant and harsh lullaby, that I fell
asleep.