***
While Amarachi followed me inside the sickbay, Flora just stood in the doorway. "Come in," I said.
"I will just wait here," she said.
"You sure you don't want to come in?" Stella asked, stretching her neck from behind the counter. "This might take some time."
Tentatively, Flora stepped in and stood beside us. Gesturing for us to sit, Stella advanced to us. I noticed a white envelope with her. "I picked up your test results."
"How bad is it?" My voice betrayed me, baring my nerviness. I drew in a deep breath, willing away my fear, but it had other plans. Amarachi's hand found mine. She squeezed gently, wordlessly assuring me of her support.
"Calm down. It's malaria, as expected." She presented the test result to Amarachi.
"There's also typhoid," Amarachi noted, staring at the result.
Stella walked to the counter and returned with two white bags, one of which sought to comfort me with its small size-at least when compared with the other.
She raised the smaller bag. "This one contains all your drugs."
She placed the bag on my lap. I cringed at its contents. A bitter taste rose from the bag and settled on my tongue. I swallowed the invisible pill, a lump in my throat. I could still hear Stella talking about the drugs, but the words never made it to my ears. I could only think of the drugs. For the next few days, my life would be hell. I could only hope it didn't extend to weeks.
"Are you even listening to me?" she asked.
"What's in the other bag?" I asked, although I could already guess.
"IV drips," she said.
A lone tear glided down my cheek. Images of a needle piercing its way into my skin haunted me. I saw a second image: a bead of blood where the needle had been. I blinked back these images, but they didn't go away.
"Isn't there another way?" I said. "Can't I skip the whole drip thingy? I mean...these drugs can single-handedly do the job, right? I promise I'll take them according to prescription. I won't take them on an empty stomach. Please. Just scratch the drip thingy, please."
Wrapping an arm around me, Amarachi guided my head to her narrow shoulder. I sobbed. I couldn't stand a needle piercing through me for a few seconds to draw blood. How then would I survive a needle being buried in my skin for hours? Wouldn't it just keep burning the raw side of my skin the whole time?
"On a scale from 0 to 10, how instrumental is the drip to her recovery?" Amarachi asked, gently patting my head.
"It's just as important as the pills," Stella said.
"B-but," I stuttered. "I don't even feel too sick. Isn't drip for someone who's confined to a sickbed?"
When Stella didn't respond, I said, "But this is about my health. Shouldn't I be the one deciding the nature of my treatment?"
Flora patted my arm. "It can't be that bad."
"You don't understand!" I yelled.
"Vicky, Vicky, Vicky," Stella called, her voice sugar-coated. She plopped down on the bed opposite ours. "I thought we already got past this yesterday."
"Sounds like there's a story I don't know of," Amarachi said.
Placing the bag of drips beside her, Stella brought out a transparent bag of IV fluid, a syringe, a pair of sterile disposable gloves and other materials I didn't care to identify.
"Yesterday wasn't easy," she said. "She created a scene when the nurse approached her for the blood test. I had to step in and do the job myself. Don't worry, Vicky. It won't hurt."
"That's what you said yesterday," I said.
"Okay. Tell the truth. Did it hurt yesterday?"
I sniffed. Moments passed and I didn't answer.
"You see," she said. "You're working yourself up over nothing. Let's be honest here. Being nervous causes your veins to constrict. And I'm sure you don't want to know where vasoconstriction leads."
I'd heard stories of needles snapping in constricted veins. My throat tightened at the thought of it, spreading a ghastly whiteness over my face.
This seemed to please Stella. "Yeah. You really don't want to know." To Flora, she said, "Fetch me my scissors, dear. It's on the counter."
Once Flora brought the scissors, Stella put on her sterile gloves and set to work. She cut off the tip of the tiny medicine bottle and inserted the syringe. Filling the syringe with the fluid in the bottle, she injected it into the IV fluid bag. She did other things I didn't care to watch.
"Take off your jacket," she said. I did just so.
When she advanced to me, I knew the moment had arrived. Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched her roll up my sleeve.
"Lie down," she said.
I complied, my throat heavy. She sat beside me and took my hand in hers. While she searched for the right site to administer the IV, I prayed her search yielded no reward. But it did. Her gaze lingered on the inner crook of my elbow. I shed a tear for my elbow and the rest of my body.
"Ready?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"You really don't have a choice now."
"Sing me a song," I said. "The song you sang at the hospital." I didn't want to look superstitious, but that song had washed away my fright.
She sang, smiling at me the whole time. I felt the tightening of a tourniquet around my upper arm. Moving out of my line of sight, she pulled my hand toward her, or in this case, to its death. I tilted my head to watch.
"Uh uh," she said.
Seething with frustration, I lowered my head. Soaking a piece of cotton wool in methylated spirit, she cleaned the administration site with it.
As she sang on, I let the beauty of the lyrics steal me over. It led me to a place where I wouldn't have to worry about needles and drugs and arrogant bastards. Someday, I would be in this beautiful place, leaving all my troubles far behind me. I would fly as high as my wings dared.
I felt a sting as the needle slid into my vein. "Ouch!"
Although the sting didn't hurt half as bad as I'd thought it would, it still qualified as unpleasant.
Amarachi smiled at me. She brushed my hair with her palm. "There. All done."
Stella secured the IV syringe with a tape. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as the song neared its end. I doubted I would be awake to hear the end of it.
The tourniquet loosened from my arm, but I barely paid any attention.