when a fiery star falls down from heaven, shrinks into a spore, is inhaled, and then expands again. that what it feels like.

Hunger.
So hungry.
we have plans, fun ones, today.
but first, to the meal.

Hunger.
stomach scraping, heart-burning hunger.
we sit. We wait. We order. We wait.
food comes. Not mine. I tell her, “eat, your stomach needs food”
And then mine comes. One bite, delicious.
first samosa, finished.
Samosas, and sweet coffee.
warm and smooth.
a perfect tantalizing mixture.

But hunger pains keep going.
I waited too long to eat.
why am I not filling?
still hurting.

The pain is not satisfied. Must be louder. Screams, a seam rips. Something hurts, so bad. It seeps into my back, excruciating, soul-writhing, demon-possessed pain. Hot, acidic, unquenchable.

I cry out. I lay down my cup, my warm pocket of veggies wrapped in gently fried phyllo dough. The peas are plump, the potato curry steaming, the smell makes me cringe.

In the restaurant, I duck behind the chair. I stretch out, begging this pain to leave me. it refuses. Worse than before. My back, like exploding veins of sickle-cell acid piercing both sides in a manner of war.

I twist, writhe, must get out. I give money to Cass, and abandon my warm meal for hope of homeful healing. A bed. I require one. The door, I need it now.

But no, up a long hill I walk, past smelly Africans, dodging mini buses, ignoring the demanding beggar woman. I come to a grassy knoll. It is hot, dry, brittle, pokey grass. I lie down, the pain having doubled me over like a jack-knife. I sprawl, then clench again, my back searing me, and my stomach exploding in white hot lava.

Oh. My…


God.

I get up. I am already attracting a crowd. I tell myself I must vomit. I must get this poison out of me. my brain reminds me that pain is all in the mind, the perception of the world around you. If you try hard enough, it would not exist if you do not allow it to. Then I seize up. This pain will NOT end. screw logic and philosophy. Dear God, I don’t want this. Please, take this.

I make it to the gate, dragging my purse at my ankles. I come to the steps, past the gaurds who are chatting, who have kind stomachs and painless backs. I am too in pain to be jealous.

At the second step, I cry out and collapse. I shove my finger into the back of my throat and gag myself. it takes a few tries, but I succeed. Somewhat. Very small amounts surface, and relief is not what I feel. The only thing that I feel is the end of the rope that I am hanging upside down on. Pain! Shooting! Cannot sit, cannot stand, cannot lie down. Too much pain! This can’t be real, this cant be happening! I am dying. Or I want to die. If this pain does not end NOW, I will make it end. I will kill myself.

My excruciation has brought me an audience. People I don’t know, didn’t look at, and will never see again, picked me up, laid me down, asked me questions and looked in awe at the “mzungu” with “malaria”. Psh. Malaria. If my tooth was aching they’d call it malaria.

Cass comes. She sees me. the old man at the gate cries out that “your friend is sick!!” she ducks to me, and then runs to the hospital.

I am in so much pain, I cannot answer the incessant questions beyond... I cannot. I cannot move. I writhe, clenching my legs. I unstrap my bra. In delirium, or the state right before it, I drag nails across my face and let out wails like the ones given by mourning women outside the hospital who grieve for the dead. The onlookers gather for a closer look. To be fair, they sound concerned.

Cass comes. My legs are at perpendicular angles, seized in pain. My back is arched, my stomach somewhere. Somewhere it’s never been before, and is never allowed to go again.

Cass assesses the situation like a good PA prodigy, and does what no other onlooker has the means to do. She calls the Blantyre Adventist Hospital staff’s personal cell phones. She calls Ann. Who calls Adriel, the surgeon. God bless him. if surgery is what it takes, if I could be put under, administered anesthetics, then I wont have to kill myself.

Please, put me in surgery. Now.

Adriel is coming, bringing his car. cass massages my back and snaps at the interfering (but well-intended) onlookers. A man offers to take me to his house where I would be more comfortable. No. I cannot move. I will die before I move.

Minutes drag. I repeat over and over, oh my God, oh my God, oh my god, oh my god. A mantra, a prayer, both, I am unsure. But at last my God did help me. Adriel came. He was there beside me, asking me professional questions, prodding my back, my stomach. I cry out.

Could be kidneys. A tear slips out my eyes.

But not the appendix, he says. The pain is too high.
I am relieved. Cass is too. She exhales.

I cannot walk, but I must move. Adriel carries me, lays me in the back seat. I curl up. Cass grabs my bag, my shoes, my jacket, my scarf. Everything, I stripped it. I would have taken off my pants too-not sure why-but I lost feeling in my hands before I could. And my coordination was not too strong.

We back up, drive the car to the hospital. It is 30 seconds away, but it feels like an hour. How many three point turns do we have to make to turn this stupid car around? I start moaning my mantra even louder. I am outside myself, unable to stop this pain, unable to control my words, my contractions, my hands smooshing and pulling my face apart as I cry, and continue to lose feeling in my extremities. All I want is to faint to get away from this pain. But it’s apparently not strong enough. I was meant to live through this.

Adriel parks, but I cannot go into the hospital. I cannot move. I cannot speak. And when I do, my voice is heavy, cracked and burdened with both fear and the desperation.

He runs for a pain killer shot. Minutes pass. Don’t remember what I did. Cass talked to me. don’t remember what she said.

He comes back, says it might hurt. Give it me, I say inside my head. He draws blood, but squeezes every last drop of whatever that was into my blood stream. How long will it take, cass asks. We will wait and see. Adriel goes for anti-acids. I pull it out and hand my bra to cass. Will you hold that? She laughs and stuffs it in my bag. Too much pain to understand why it was so odd.

Gradually, within three minutes I would say, the pain started to leave me. it retreated from my back first, evaporating into nothingness. I cursed it. And then, minutes later, with the arrival of the doctors, good friends, I turn to my side and feel with relief that the hell pot inside of my stomach is subsiding.

The doctors, my people, check me, get the story, and pose their different theories. Pancreatitis? No, it was too fast. Kidney stones? No, she’s too young. It was the gradual change of diet while being in Africa. But, really? does it end up like this? I’ve been in Africa almost 10 months. And suddenly? I reject that idea. A consensus goes around that its some sort of hyper-acidity. I am growing stomach ulcers from this year, apparently. Stress from a medical point of view? I don’t know, but it makes me laugh. The irony. They get me pills, and syrup, to drink and take three times a day. I hold them like treasure.

I feel so good now, I can sit up. I can smile, I can laugh. Praise you God that I can exist without pain! You are so wonderful! Thank you for my doctors. Your doctors. You have given me so much. If I had been out in the bush, I may have died from so much pain. I say that a lot, but it’s only because I must never go through that again. I could not do that again.

Adriel takes us home. He hands cass the meds. The pain supposedly wont come back.
All I know is that I have never been so relieved. I know God has really taken care of me. and I also know that when I go into labor, whenever that day comes, I WILL be using the epideral. Because pain like, it just aint worth your time.

so, that was me, yesterday. voila.