It’s not the doctors- humans just do fail

I have this annoying thing; I take other people’s emotions, and it gets worse the older I get. The irony is that I cannot tell when I am having an extremely emotional experience until much later, in this case, a year plus later. But sometimes, it is evident, a LOT of alcohol, and tears, and locked up in my room. In the same way, there was a notification on my laptop of extreme UV light until there wasn’t, and then later, you’re like, ah, cancer.

The trigger

I nearly died a year ago, and it wasn’t COVID. It would have been due to negligence. Oxygen levels in your blood are happy at 95+ percent. I won’t even google that. Later the levels were 96 consistently. That morning, before 6 am, I was at a friend’s, and I called my dad and told him I couldn’t breathe. At least properly. I could feel the onset because of my breathing… and after the call, I fell to the ground. I remember sounds around me a few seconds later, “help me carry her,” and then being in the car.

I was lucky. I need you to understand that. I had a friend who was 1) Awake at the time and 2) Acted fast enough.

And no, doctors still don’t know what caused it.

Also, a special fuck you to XYZ Hospital for discharging me only to find myself in another hospital overnight because COVID was the money maker. I was brought there, unable to walk and on oxygen. She wore a beige hijab and told me not to miss my bipolar medication again. I am not calling out her religion, but that asshole stunt. And also, the hospital for wanting to admit me until my dad fought for me to get a rapid test. It wasn’t COVID. I was unwell.

On the way to the nearest hospital, I could hear them but could not respond. I was aware that I wasn’t seeing but looking through what were my eyes.

Shout out to the next shitty nearer Xyz hospital at the time for putting an intern in my case when I was brought in, barely unable to walk.

It started with my fingers going numb; it was about 6 am. I am cold. I am on a hospital bed at this time. Then my feet. They are cold, but I can’t feel them. Then my lips, I am barely there. I was later told they had gone blue. I am black-skinned. I talk funny and tell my friend, “Tell my parents sorry, and I love them.”

Again, I was there but not there. It’s like using binoculars. I am staring at the ceiling. I hear, “Her oxygen is 69…” I hear, “The oxygen tank is empty???!!” I hear, “carry here to this bed; this tank can’t reach there.”


I remember there was more light in the room when I came around. My parents had arrived. Calls are being made. Ambulance. XYZ hospital. I was wheeled in.

I was in and out of consciousness for 3 hours (I think) before I was deemed okay enough to walk myself to that bitch of a doctor who deemed quetiapine a reason my body lacked oxygen. I had tried to OD on that medication during a depressive episode, and it didn’t work. I was brought in an ambulance, and it took me a couple of hours, maybe 5, to be able to walk, only to end up back in another hospital. Dizzy. Nearly fell. A nurse and my dad were there to hold me up while waiting to see a doctor.

Shout out to Doreen Gakii. Thank you, my old friend, along with Nimaro Loyol, for telling me, “We got your near-death selfie from the ambulance, but take your ass back to the hospital.” What? Gallows humor. Look it up. I was sure I was dying, but sentimental to friends, not quite. They know I love them.

Where I am coming from

How many people die from a wrong diagnosis? I had a cousin, Kamore, who visited us to see an optician because he couldn’t see well. KCSE was coming. He needed to see his papers. One year in Kenyatta hospital from an inoperable tumor in his brain. He was sent home to die. Doctors in his hometown this whole time just said he needed glasses. His head and face were disfigured when he was visiting before ending up in hospital.

On the day he died, he was sharing a room with his mom in the village, and she said at about 4 am, there about, she felt super-hot. Less than 2hrs later, she had changed his clothes and was on her way to the police station to file a report.

How many people have died from a wrong diagnosis???

I am tired.

PS: I never met you, and I am moaning with your people. I hope it was painless. And know that you are loved. As your spirit left the room and you couldn’t signal for help, know you were loved. I am sorry this world failed you.