I opened my eyes and had no idea where I was. “Where am I ?” I asked myself looking around, the walls were painted a warm color but I couldn’t tell which it was. My eyes were still blurry from watching the ceiling fan twirl lazily. A sharp smell of antiseptic hits me and I frown, almost immediately a night singer comes to deliver a melody to me, as I make to raise my hand to chase it away I feel a dull pain on my hand. I look up to find an IV stand connected to my wrist. My heart rate increases, “ hospital?!” I try to sit up but I feel excruciating pain from my lower body then it all comes rushing in.
My eyes widen in horror as the car drove straight into me, suddenly I’m on the ground, drenched in blood. I try to stand but I can’t. People are screaming at the top of their lungs, as they rally around me as flies would do to poop. I open my mouth but my words fizzle into the air like gas. A few seconds later, my brain obeys my body ….
File in one hand a stethoscope in the other he walks into my room, his presence solemnifies the atmosphere. I keep a straight face mirroring his. “ It can’t be that bad,” I tell myself.
“Good morning Jacob I hear you feel so much pain on your ankle,” he says this giving me a tight smile “morning doctor, yes I do but recently I feel like I have been using an old woman’s back. ” He grins while examining the bandage on my ankles. “I’ll tell the nurse to rearrange and bring more pillows for you.” “Alright Doc, but when do you think I can use these” shifting my gaze to my legs and back to the doctor, I ask as my heart gnawed at me. “I don’t know Jacob but let’s just watch your improvement “ he tries to smile but fails.
I never walked again just like the doctor relayed to me, though telepathically. I do not want to bore you with the details of the orthopaedia I had undergone for the past 36 weeks but one thing was constant, pain; all kinds of it. Every day I zombie out ever since we came back from the hospital. My butt was numb just as my back ached but I ignored it, of what use are these body parts anyway aside from sitting and sleeping I thought to myself. Who would have thought someone like me would go from being a sensation to being strapped to a chair, I was an accomplished confectioner who loved his job. It hurt so much and I cried a lot till I had no strength again too. Those times were the hardest for me, you could say “as depressed as Jacob”. My parents tried to cheer me up but it ended up a colossal failure. I would ignore my mother who would come into my room bearing a smile. It was pathetic, at some point I felt it was mockery but she kept smiling. On some days I would lash out at her, she would cry and my father would try to console her taking her out of the room. My dad was never a music person but he would play songs loud enough from his room. Honestly, it was irksome, tried telling him to tone it down but he wouldn’t listen. He put Pharrell Williams ‘s ‘happy’ on repeat, I would catch myself humming unknowingly and at times sing along.
After 12 months of isolation and infuriation, even God was not the exception, I started seeing a psychologist, not that I asked for one though. Not to forget how my parents kept staffing up my caretakers but this time they did the firing themselves.
Sessions with my psychologist were just a monologue, I would stare at her like she was a book out of place on a shelf.2 months in, I still had not said a word to her. One day she came in with some stationaries. Halfway into our session, I picked up a note pad with a pencil and started scribbling, and that was how communication began. I took a liking to words and started writing. I wrote for the fun of it and also I felt some sense of independence since I needed no one to help me out, well as asides from bringing the notepad or laptop to me. My parents encouraged me to make a career out of it but I was just testing the waters. The day I finally told them I was going to make a name out of my writing, my parents were ecstatic, matter of fact, I had never seen them so happy in a very long time, my dad rejoiced king David’s style. Seeing them like that, brought tears to my eyes. My mum enlisted me in every single writing class she came across while my dad took charge of the local contests. The beginnings were always the hardest but I drew inspiration from my father’s words, as he encouraged me to submit my work. Some of my writings were cringe-worthy but they sat through, listening with apt attention. From their end they always kept me updated.
Slowly but steadily I started making progress. After many and many submissions, I won my first local contest a year later. Words elude me to describe how elated my parents were, my mum would tell everyone she knew of it and my father boasted to his friends. I kept winning contests and that helped boost my self-confidence. I got my first breakthrough after I won my first international award but sadly my parents passed away in an accident a month later. I broke completely, 2 years down I had not written anything. Then one morning while going through my stuff I see a paper with my father’s writing on it and it reads “when you reach the end of your rope, ties a knot on it and hangs on”-Thomas Jefferson. That was my turning point, I was left with the option but to hang on. Years later I have gone on to win notable awards and being nominated for the noble prize for literature this year. Today sitting amongst you at this event, I am just a writer who has touched and inspired lives, by being relentless in my writing. My writing has taken me to where my legs would never dream of, all thanks to my parents, they were my new legs and gift I never knew I had.
Written by Arueze Chisom Precious
1 Comment
Nice write up…