Days Of Our Lives

" Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives..."

I walked down the stairs from my apartment and bumped into my neighbour, attempting to jumpstart his run down automobile. He looked up, and with a broad  smile on his face, chirps, "Morning Daktari?"

"Fine, thank you,"I replied cheerfully, and walked past. However, there was nothing fine about anything. My car had broken down, and instead of the mechanic fixing and bringing it back yesterday, he had decided to turn it into a taxi for the night.

But, I cannot say that. So, my neighbour asked to give me a lift to work, and I almost reminded him that his car is as dead as mine, but I bit my tongue. I continued on, and he continued about his business.

I hurriedly but carefully sauntered through the estate,careful not to break my high heels as I am not used to having this corporate look to work. I did not even know how to balance properly. Wearing heels was just painful. But I was required to look the part. Daktari had to be smart, polished and articulate. Not a bad mood, not a bad word, not a hair out of place. I rubbed my eyes and squinted into the sun, worried about the eyebags; as a result of two hours' sleep, since I had to locum the whole night. I had to locum to survive.

Locum...this is the equivalent of a DJ in a nightclub, every other weekday, having worked 9 hours or more, on the regular day job.

The only difference, was that "The sound of Music" was indeed the sound of monitors beeping, children screaming, parents yelling, ambulances howling and making their way into the hospital, carts being wheeled around in the dead of the night.

On the TV perched next to the ceiling, covered by a metal grill to avoid being stolen, an "AfroSinema will be back-oh" show would be on, sometimes muted, sometimes on with nobody caring to listen or watch.

Locum..the part time "McDonalds" for doctors where they earn an extra buck per hour just to supplement their sad, sometimes disillusioned lifestyle. It's like "kuomba squadi ya makanga"..I believe any chap from Eastlands will understand what I mean. I mean, working beyond measure, all nervous and looking over your shoulder fleetingly,eyes darting each time as if waiting for a time bomb, all in the name of putting food on the table..

Back to present day..

So, I got to work, groggy eyed, and walked straight to the Dr's Room. I put on my labcoat, place my name tag and straighten the stray strands of braids off my face as I gaze into the mirror. Red eyed, fatigued to the bone, and trying to block the mental image of the numerous number of men, women and children sitting at the waiting bay.

"This is really going to be a long, long day," I thought wearily to myself.

"Please send the first patient in", I talk into the telephone.

Shortly, a burly man walks in,and says he wants a sick-off due to vomiting. He is a walking saturated human alcoblow, I'm not sure if he is even aware of where he is. I gently scold him about the effects of alcohol, as he rolls his bloodshot eyes and peers into mine as if to question if we are sailing in the same,drunken rocky boat. Defeated, I sort him out. Next, a woman with two babies walks in, and one has a fever. "Okay, this one is ill.."I mutter to myself. I examine, investigate and prescribe medication.

And the beat goes on.

At lunch hour, my rogue mechanic clad in oily overalls brought back the jalopy, slapped me with a hefty bill, and casually told me that "gari imewasha taa sababu alitumia ile mafuta yote ilikuwa kuenda test drive".

The rest of the day rumbles on, and at 4pm, my shift is over. I clock out of work and drive back home at 30 km/h, too tired to place my foot anywhere, even on the accelerator pedal. Yes, I am the one you hoot at for 'being slow and stupid' on the highway. I get home, climb up the stairs groggily, turn the key in the lock and stumble into the house.

I slump into the chair, numb with fatigue, and as I drift off to sleep, hungry as hell but too tired to open my mouth, the last thought trailing in my mind is this..

That, I, Daktari Wa Mtaa, after the struggle, I am tired, hungry, disillusioned and broke. 

That I have worked 38 hours today (in a 24 hr day), non-stop, on my feet, with pay that can make one wail and gnash their teeth.

That I have been insulted, jeered at, puked at, thanked by some (read few), walked out on, and said nothing...all in order to stay and remain noble..as is required of me.

That sometimes I think I was crazy and out of my mind to even dare to pursue a career in medicine, if the trade off was to work like a horse and feel like a slave.

That I have to dig deep, and keep it moving, to balance between caring for my patients and pay for my bills.

That something has got to give. 

That I need a break.. and time to rest..if I can afford it.., in an attempt to afford to live..or die trying..everyday..

That, tomorrow, I have another locum, so I better cancel all my dates, because duty calls..

They say it is a calling..

Help me God, before I become the patient..

#DWM