Talking about my toothache (read post here) made me recall the time when I got chickenpox.
Our last born contacted chickenpox from her school, then came home and transferred it to my Mama who now lovingly gave it to my immediate younger sister. Papa was out of town so he wasn’t around to receive his share. Through those torturous weeks, I was the one responsible for everything in the house – cooking, cleaning, laundry, nursing, especially the ritual of applying calamite lotion all over their bodies and monitoring them to make sure they don’t scratch. It was serious hard work. Disappointingly, I wasn’t even getting paid, all I was getting was
“Mitchy!… Come and rub my back”
“Mitchy… My plate of food is getting empty”
“Mitchy… I can’t reach the dstv remote”
“Mitchy… Jesus Christ is coming soon ”
I waited for mine to come, a week, two weeks, a month. And by the third month, we all agreed I wasn’t going to get chickenpox.Personally, I knew it was because I am a goddess, we higher bodies do not possess the same low level of immunity as mere mortals, ours is extremely high.
So years later when I met Babe and he got chicken pox from his brother who had gotten it from a neighbor who had gotten from school, I dutifully stuck to his side, even when his own Mama avoided him like a plague. All his friends deserted him, they only sent ‘get well soon‘ texts and said hi from outside through the window, but I stuck to his side and reopened my charity business, acting nurse and counselor.
It came as a shock when about three weeks later, my own chickenpox started – apparently, I am not a goddess or mingling with mortals had messed with my genes. Mama went into panic mode and commanded me to travel home after one aproko oversabi in her office had convinced her that chickenpox kills more than HIV.
I willingly went home, at least I was going to be in the midst of my loving and supporting family. Little did I know that these people had other plans.
I stepped into the house and my sisters were at standby with cleaning gears and disinfectants to purify anything I see, touch or breathe on. My Papa first of all confined me to a room and told me never to step out until my ailment was completely gone. If I needed anything, I should just call. They pushed my meals into the room through a thin slit they made in the door. The whole arrangement was just like as if it was Ebola I came home with. So my own family could treat me like this? What a world.
Anyways, I had the tv all to myself and I didn’t do any chores and there was no Sam to beg me to on Hotspot for her so life was good except for the fever and constant itching. I healed up completely in exactly two weeks, one day and 16 hours. I packed my bag of small stuff I came with, looted their kitchen of the provisions, asked for money and even more extra money and I fled.
I didn’t even bother to call them for like 3 weeks, and they didn’t call me after the first day. I heard my Papa wanted to set everything in the room I stayed on fire but Mama convinced him just disinfecting would be enough. That is the type of family I’m born into.
Your turn now, how was your chickenpox experience, and what is the one unbelievable thing your family has done to you?