RELATIONSHIPS

Hmmm…..Its 02:57 a.m, Thursday 23 April 2009 and I'm battling to sleep, trying to get over a someone. We all know that feeling right?

My four year old relationship ended about a year and a couple of months after my accident. My partner never gave up on me. Having spoken to a few disabled people, I gathered that some dwell on the idea that “he left me because of my condition”, honestly that’s what I thought too in the beginning, until I decided to snap out of it and be realistic.

How bout: he left me because I had changed, I was no longer the woman he fell in love with, and I allowed my disability to guzzle me. On the other hand one could argue and say; I was justified to be that way, but c’mon a person can only take so much, we all know that. Well yes there are those people who will be able to go all the way, but we know that it’s easier to help someone who also helps themselves

My other take on this is the subject of preferences, as individuals we all have our preferences, some women leave their men once they pick up weight, some men prefer slender women, some prefer tall, short, dark, and light skinned guys. Why must it be an issue when others don’t prefer paras? For those who didn’t know, there are actually disabled dating sites where men and women go because they are open minded t to date disabled people. What? Yep!! You heard it first here

I personally know of some men that my girlfriends would drool over and Id take one look at those men and think “nah, not for me” without even taking the time to engage in a conversation with the person or something like that. Why the double standards then? Because I'm permanently seated?!!

Even if they leave because of the disability, I refuse to dwell on that for that may result in me believing that I will never meet anyone because of my condition, leading to a depression, and we wouldn’t want that now, would we?

So to my girlfriends whom I shall refer to as Miss M, Miss T, Miss S and another Miss M, I don’t want to hear another “He’s such a dog, he couldn’t handle you Chommee”, hell yea, maybe he couldn’t handle a woman who was always feeling sorry for herself, can you imagine how unattractive that would be?

Having said that so easily, actually applying that is not an easy task after having gone through such an ordeal, but one should at least try and not give up. I mean we are all handicapped in some way, some able bodied people are more depressed than we are, but we all have to learn to get by somehow. The only difference is that some disabilities are more visible than others.

So eventually I got over the “he left cause of my condition” and developed a “I too deserve love, kids, hubby, picket fence and a dog in the back yard” attitude.

I'm the kind of person who analyses almost everything such that when men approached me I started analyzing their intentions with me and it hit me one day that “individuals are inquisitive by nature” remember when you were told not to touch the stove as a child”, well society doesn’t say “don’t date a paraplegic”, rather they don’t say it out loud, but trust me they do, delicately.

I’ve been in the dating game too and most of us have a check list, and again, that doesn’t only apply to guys wanting to find out what it’s like to date a Para. This curiosity stretches as far as men wanting to know what its like to date hot woman, fat woman, albinos, skinny womans, Indian woman, big breasted woman, a Venda woman, a model, an airhead, a successful woman, bladi bladi bladi bla….

A plus for me is that 80% of my friends are men and I have 5 brothers, so I'm bold to say that I’ve engaged or even eaves dropped in at least one conversation where one of them would say “hey check that girl out” and the other would reply “been there “, that would then be his “check!! “ on the list. I can already hear white guys going through their list “black chick….check!”, which by the way is also not accepted in their world but they do it regardless, because its human nature to be inquisitive. So hey, this is something we can’t get past to a certain extent.

Moving on….. I was always on the look out for such, questioning motives, analyzing, testing men, I managed to get away from most men, but it was draining to always want to learn people’s motives, your mind becomes your worst enemy. So I took I made a conscious decision to relax and allowed myself to date, a few months later, here I am, no sleep, writing this article. Well that should answer your question.

Lesson learned: Everything happens for a reason, come to think of it, had I not dated, I wouldn’t be able to write this column. So let’s give credit where it’s due. ‘Thank you Jack!”

THE HOSPITAL

“MY JOURNEYS”

[As a paraplegic]

THE HOSPITAL

It’s May 10, 09:30a.m and still in bed having a lazy Sunday… which I'm guessing we all are. It was quite an eventful weekend hey? What were you up to? Inaugurating your new president? Celebrating with your favorite pop idol/s? Chiefs? Celtics? Well… I chose to spend my weekend just pondering……. about my journeys thus far…

(Would’ve loved to spend it with my mom though…ill take advantage of the platform to holla at mommy …happy mom’s day! :)

This weekend I took a trip to 2007 February, Sunninghill hospital, ICU, “Bed 7”. That’s what they used to refer me as at times “bed 7”, sort of like in prison, where you are no longer Rholihlahla, but 46664.

Prior to Sunninghill:

I was in between jobs, just signed my appointment letter with TCTA on the 14th and was out to celebrate my new job with peers on Friday the 16th. Had cancelled my previous medical aid with the previous employer and was in the process of searching a new medical aid.

Moving along….I cannot confirm the number of days or weeks, (I'm told about 3 weeks) that I was out for, but I remember waking up seeing my entire family in front of me and my elder brother saying “can you believe we took the Gautrain to get here?” And my response was “What year is it?” The entire room was Filled with laughter.

That’s just a brief introduction of my family and how they handle tragic matters, which is the attitude that best explains my speedy recovery.

My first clear memory was when I was woken up at 6 in the morning by a certain sister Connie, who later established a good relationship with my entire family, infect she just wished me a happy mothers day , in her words “ happy mothers day to the mother to be..Yes in God’s name, you will be a mother one day”…True! It is medically possible. (Another topic)

She came into my room and said we are going to take a bath, “in bed? I thought” but I didn’t ask any questions, not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t…. I couldn’t speak can you believe it…so if I had to ask any questions, it would have to firstly be….”why can’t I speak?”…the likely answer would be “because of a tracheostomy , next question “what is that?” “Why do I have it”…so I just decided to give in.

She then unfastens my hands from the bed…I thought no way! This time I'm speaking out! “Why are my hands fastened, I'm not a prisoner!” I shouted, but no one reacted or responded. … Of course, they couldn’t hear me! Shux!

I later learned that my hands were fastened because I was a wrestles patient, pulling all the pipes that were in me and around me all the time, which created more work for the nurses, because they had to keep on putting the pipes back in

Visiting hour came; my parents and brothers drove all the way from Potch every single weekend, and sometimes during the week, religiously! And my boyfriend never missed a day, as well as a friend who was with me at the time of the incident, who never missed a weekday. This was on a Friday, I remember, because I asked, they always had to try and read my lips. My boyfriend told me he was driving to the eastern cape for the weekend, I asked him to wait for me to be discharged so that I can come along…. (He laughs at me till this day about what I said then)… that’s when I learned that I was still going to be there for a long time.

I still didn’t know what the big idea was, why was I in this room? With so many pipes? Why was I getting bed baths, I know how to bathe myself!? Why were there so many people coming to this room every hour? Some came to beat my chest, which they refer to as percussions - I didn’t care what the correct term was, they were beating my chest and it was tiring and painful at times! Why were my friends crying when they came to see me? (My family was always jolly though), there were just too many questions and it was frustrating me, even more frustrating was the fact that I couldn’t talk. I had to repeat myself every time, simply because they were struggling to read my lips, that too was tiring, so I learned to keep quiet and only speak when necessary. Those who know me know that is a difficult task for me.

There wasn’t much for me to do, but lie and face the ceiling and think, think, think…I still didn’t know what was up..i recall telling the nurse one day that I needed to go to the bathroom, she asked “why”, I said I needed to urinate, she then told me I didn’t need to go to the bathroom to pass urine, it still didn’t register that I couldn’t walk, I simply wanted to walk out of bed and go to the bathroom, it didn’t register that the days have gone by without me having gone to the bathroom, it was a very confusing time for me, things didn’t quite add up, but I didn’t question them that much.

I remember also asking for food, and I was told that I was already getting food through a feeding pipe… that sucked because I wanted to taste some KFC, McDonalds’, ice cream, and water for crying out loud!

One day I decided not to fight the system and try and figure out a way to deal with the situation at hand. I studied the daily routine (physiotherapist, medication, suction time, visitors( I always looked forward to visiting hours) , more medication, more baths, ( why I had to take a bath two to three times a day , beat me! I was lying in bed all the time for Piet sakes…), more beatings from physiotherapist, doctors rounds, more suction (this was the most painful experience of them all, but if it wasn’t done, the phlegm would block my airway and I would struggle to breathe….catch 22!).

I asked for a notepad and paper, so I could communicate better with my visitors and nurses, Asked for a radio so I could listen to music, read magazines, asked for a TV in my room, so I had enough entertainment.

I was already establishing a relationship with Sister Connie, she was there every morning, talking to me about everything, seeing her come in that door always put a smile on my face, she was a true believer in God, and she would read the bible with me and pray with me all the time. Until one day I saw a new face come in my room, “where is Sister Connie “I cried? They changed shifts apparently, I thought I had figured out the whole routine, I was getting comfortable with the routine…but it changed. Oh well… not all’s lost, noted that down and everything went back to normal.

One day, It all made sense, but why didn’t anyone tell me? Why would they leave me to figure it out on my own? Sister Connie came to my room prayed out loud “God please perform a miracle and make Zuki walk again” … WHAT?!!!

Weeks went by, I was still stuck there, Sister Connie kept coming, and we got along very well until she started talking about God, I was polite and listened, but it all came in one ear and out the other “what God?” I kept thinking… suddenly everyone that came to see me started talking about God!! They probably did talk about God all the time, but I wasn’t aware and now that I had learned that I couldn’t walk, I blamed “their” God, and yet they still came to me to tell me that I should thank him for sparing my life! What good was this life to be without the use of my legs…he should’ve just taken my life! And I must thank him for sparing it??? It suddenly felt like I was the only sane one in this world…THEY JUST DIDN’T GET IT!

Sister Connie came again one day and asked “close your eyes and tell me which of your toes I'm touching, indicate by showing your fingers “for obvious reasons of course. The doctor came in while doing his rounds and Sister Connie uttered “doctor, she can feel” he then confirmed it and told me that“having some feeling is a good sign, give it 18 months and there might be progress”, he wasn’t very particular about what he meant by “progress” but the general assumption was that I would be able to walk again in 18 months with continuous physiotherapy.

There was hope! We all thought. I started looking forward to my physiotherapy everyday, days went by, new patients came and left, I was still stuck there, I knew each nurse by name , I was no longer “bed 7” but Zuki/Zux/Zinhle or even “first lady” I would be called. Had I been there for that long?

The days were fine, for they were busy, but the nights were lonely, lying there in bed staring at the ceiling with gazillion thoughts running in your mind is not a pleasant feeling to go through. I had to come up with a way to deal with the sleepless nights and thoughts, I was given very strong medication for pain and most of it would put me to sleep, but I learned that I had limited dosages, so I would work out when to start feeling the pain, which would be the time when I needed to sleep. I knew that everyday I had to spare a dosage for after 8:00 pm, then I would “feel pain” and ask for my evening dosage of morphine or Methadone/Pethadene.

Some days were bearable in hospital but some not, I made some progress and then had a few relapses. I was starting to feel like hospital furniture, envied those patients who left, but I learned to accept and be patient. About 4 months later, I was moved to the rehabilitation centre…on my way out of the hospital, I was on the look-out for the Gautrain…Thank God! (how ironic) Haven’t missed it.

I later learned that meanwhile while I was busy trying to come to terms with what had happened to me, and enjoying the luxuries and excellent care of being in a top private hospital, my work (TCTA), were involved in my stay there (and I had only been officially employed with them for less than a month). I learned that they organized funds to have them keep me at Sunninghill instead of move me to a public hospital and not only that; they were having prayers at least once a week at work for my recovery. WOW! And I was angry at God!

I also later learned that while I was lying in bed 7, and the hospital was trying to have me moved, for TCTA couldn’t keep up with the expenses that I was incurring in ICU, my neurosurgeon put his foot down and was not about to let them move me!

Now, should I take full credit for my recovery NO! Which is another reason why I write this column, to give thanks to everyone that has played a role in this journey? In this chapter alone, I thank Sister Connie, ICU nurses, physiotherapists, my special friend who was with me at the incident, my neurosurgeon, and special thanks to my work/manager (TCTA) five brothers, boyfriend and parents.

Lesson Learned: God will never throw you in a ditch without a rope f! I'm sure we’ve all, always wondered how Mc gyver always had a knife or rope or something to help him get out of a trapped situation…well, I guess God was always there with him.

Have I answered most of your questions? I look forward to more comments and questions/emails.

To be continued......

THE SCENE

MY JOURNEYS

                         "As a paraplegic"

                                                THE SCENE

Was I at the wrong place at the wrong time

                                                            Or

                          Was it a measly accident?

                                                    Perhaps

 It was just an operation of random crime?

                                                     Maybe

                            A well planned incident?

Started with a BANG!

Followed by BLANK!

Answers to the above are of no significance to me

                                               Nor

                                            Does filling in the vacant space!

                                                                                                                         To be continued...............

SYNOPSIS

“MY JOURNEYS”
[As a paraplegic]


“Ngicela amafone (give me your phones)” he exclaimed, followed by a bang! That definitely was not a door slam!

“Ma’am I am going to ask you a few questions please reply as much as you can,…. full name please ….. I think I have her…. she is trying to speak…… do you have medical aid...look in her pockets … bags….ooh here I found something…. It’s her medical aid card; Zukiswa Nzo is her name….”

I still cannot tell till this day whether it was an attempted robbery or an attempted high jacking on the other hand, the medical aid card that was in my bag/pocket helped me accumulate my living days, but what they didn’t know at that time, was; that medical aid was null and void. I can elaborate!

All of this happened 2 years ago 2day (16 February), (Yes! I am writing this article on the “anniversary” of my accident two years ago), and that was a plain coincidence.

I started at SABC on the 2nd of January this year, and noticed: people just didn’t know how to approach me, I later learned that my kind is really scarce at number 1059 Schoeman AND when some did get the chance to approach me, I would have to make them feel at ease to converse with me BUT something seemed unusual to those who got a chance to engaged with me, NONE of them posed the question “what in the world happened to you child?” which I thought would be human nature to be curious about such things, not even my manager asked, even though I could tell they were DYING to know! So I thought to myself (Eish but this is a lovely environment to work in, where people are not in each other business, and that is rare too. Until one day a stranger walked in the building and all she needed was an introduction to me and after exchanging our exaggerated “nice to meet yous” she jumped straight into “shame what happened?” That raised some eyebrows and I could hear a few “thank God someone finally asked on my behalf”and I must have spent about 30 minutes telling her the story and answering some of her questions.

As a rule I have two stories to tell (that I learned from paraplegic veteran), the comprehensive and the summary, and that is dependent on the recipient analysis I make.

I had a one on one with my manager one day and opened up to her, stating that I would love to educate people about Paraplegics, I cannot talk about disabled people as a whole for there are different types of them and every one of them is different, Infect, every paraplegic is also different for they too have different injuries.

One Saturday (24th January) she FINALLY sent me a text message asking me to write an article about paraplegics and educate the staff. I read the message out loud to my boyfriend and uttered “what do you think “his comeback was something like “what do you have to think about?”. And there I had my answer.

Some of the topics Id like to engage if required are my journeys (hence the column title “my journeys”) in hospital, rehab, facing the real world, accepting the condition (if there is such a thing), love life, relationships with God, family, friends, challenges in society, challenges in work place, How do paraplegics like to be treated, what have I gained as a paraplegic (Yes! there are a lot of positives and things you gain as a paraplegic), and many more.

To those who are dying to know but do not know how to ask, here is the story: It was not an MVA ( motor vehicle accident), believe it or not, even when I visit the GP some nurses would write MVA on my file, I learned that it’s a general assumption, but I mean, the nurses too?! Eish, jah neh! It is actually what the doctors would call a Gun Shot Wound, well at least that’s what it would read on my file after making it clear that: “I was shot! “(For crying out loud). So NO! I didn’t get a cent from RAF (road accident fund), which is also another general assumption. Oh how I wish it was an MVA, and then it would make everyone’s life easy, even the nurses, hey?!

Moving along…..It was a gunshot wound, making me an SCI, T4 incomplete lesion paraplegic… HUH? Yes that’s exactly how I felt too in the beginning, now you see the need to have a permanent column?
….To be continued