2 2 THE NIGHT MY MOTHER SLEP (2/2)
”I like science.”
”Do you ever give up, young man?”
”No,” I said with pride.
”Okay. It is called haemoglobin.”
”Haemoglobin.” I repeated it again with added wonder, and then I continued, ”Can you spell it?”
”Not this time. You try to spell it.”
”I can't.”
”Yes, you can.”
I hesitated for a moment. She caressed my hair as she looked down at me from the slightly raised pillow where her head lay.
”H-A- I- R- M- O- R…” I began to spell it and trailed off when she began to giggle.
”I told you I couldn't spell it,” I giggled too.
”Bless you, love. At least you tried. Be proud of yourself.”
”Spell it for me, Mum,” I continued impatiently.
”You say thank you first.” It was stern.
”Thank you,” I lowered my voice.
”Good. Okay it is spelt like this: H-A-E-M-O-G-L-O-B-I-N.” She spelt it out and I spelt it alongside her.
I repeated the word again and again. It wasn't as intriguing as Lymphocytes and didn't create any pictures in my mind, but I still liked the sound of it. I quickly shelved it in my word board. That shelf in my mind where I kept all the new words I learnt. Then I continued asking questions.
”So if white blood cells are soldiers, what are red blood cells?”
My mum lifted herself a little higher on the bed so that some of her upper back lay on the pillow, then she began to answer.
”Red…”
Then she stopped with a gasp.
And she began to pant as she squeezed her face and balled her hand, which was on my head, into a fist before she stretched out her body and raised her torso slightly from the bed. I felt it tremble beside me as a groan escaped from her lips.
I sat up and looked at her.
Kompa also sat up on his haunches and stared at her, quietly.
She began vibrating on the bed, as her face squeezed even more and her hands gripped the duvet that covered the lower part of her body.
It went on for a short while and she swayed from left to right as the pain coursed through her body.
I didn't know what to say, but I felt so sad that she was suffering.
Kompa placed one paw on her foot and kept staring at her, and it was as though that action did the trick.
My mum collapsed on the bed and began gasping. Her forehead was covered with sweat, and she let out the words, ”Sweet Lord!”
She continued breathing with loud exhalations of air until she was calm and smiling. Then she patted her abdomen and spoke.
”Come lie down. Mummy is just going through a rough patch.”
I lay down in the same position I was before.
Kompa did the same.
My mum continued, ”So you were asking me about red blood cells?”
”Yes, Mum. But you don't have to tell me if you are still in pain.”
”It's okay, the pain is gone.”
”Are you sure?”
”Yes, love. Thank you for asking though.”
I smiled.
She caressed my hair and began speaking with a weaker voice.
”Red blood cells are the cells that help carry oxygen around the body. They help us breathe. They are round in shape and flexible, and this allows them to move easily around our body through our blood vessels.”
”Are the blood vessels like tunnels through which our blood flows?”
”Yes,” she answered, smiling.
”Like covered drains or gutters?”
”Exactly. For people like me who have sickle cell anaemia, the red blood cells are not flexible but rigid, and they are shaped like sickles or the crescent moons that hang high in the sky. Because of this, they get stuck in the small blood vessels in our body, which slows down or blocks the blood flow, which in turn reduces the amount of oxygen our body gets.”
”How are my red blood cells?”
”They are perfectly round, and they flow freely through your blood vessels.”
”And yours are curved like sickles or a comma and get hooked, so they block your blood vessels.” I was repeating it to myself to make sure I fully understood it.
”Yes. But blocking the blood vessels and reducing the oxygen is not the only problem, there is also the incredible pain that comes with it.You have seen me feel the pain before, right?”
I nodded.
My mum continued, ”It is a horrible kind of pain that spreads all over your body, particularly your joints, your spleen and even your entire bones and makes you scream out in anguish. That is what I mean when I say I am in crisis. You remember me talking about a crisis?”
”Yes, I remember that,” I said, then I continued, eager to show that I had listened to the little bits of information she had given me over time. ”A crisis is the period in which the sickle cell anaemia flares up, the pain rises, and you scream.”
She laughed. It was weak, but her eyes twinkled through the mistiness that had gathered in them. I could feel the pride in them. And the deep love. She stroked my head and said, ”Sorry for screaming.”
”Don't be sorry, Mum. I wish I could do something to stop your pain.”
”Let's both pray that the pain goes away?”
I nodded eagerly.
And my mum began to pray.
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Then she stopped and began to pant. Her breathing was fast, and her hands stopped stroking my hair. Her body shook slowly at first and then even more vigorously.
I sat up and looked down at her.
Her eyes were open wide and her mouth let out a scream. It was low at first and began to rise.
I felt fear creep on me.
”Mum!” I called as Kompa ran up to her and began gently licking her face.
Each stroke of his tongue was so gentle that even I who watched felt calmness spread over me.
My mum stopped screaming and slowly started calming down as Kompa kept licking her face and making a whining sound.
”It's all right. You will be fine. The pain will soon go away, and you will be at peace,” I heard Kompa say.
I wanted to tell my mum what Kompa's whine meant, but as I saw her relax, I figured she already knew, so I kept silent and began to stroke her sweaty arm.
Then her eyes closed for a moment and then opened again. She looked at Kompa who had stopped licking her face.
”Thank you, Kompa. You are the best,” she smiled.
Kompa wagged his tail, licked his lips, walked over to her feet and curled up beside them.
My mum turned back to me, she was still smiling as she said, ”Sorry for that again.”
”It's okay, Mum. Do you feel better?”
”Yes, I do, now come lie by me, love. We haven't finished praying.”
I lay down in my former position, and she let out a long breath before she continued.
And after she had finished praying, she began to sing. It was one of her gospel songs; one of the Psalms in the Bible. Psalm 23. She made it her own. It was a mixture of singing and praying. I knew it by heart because she sang it always.
Those were the last words I remembered my mum said as she prayed and sang that night in a warm joyous voice that was sometimes choked with happy tears.
When I remember that night, I wished had I listened more, prayed more and sang along with her, but as it usually happened, I always fell asleep when my mum prayed. I don't know if it was because her prayers were usually long or because her voice was always warm and musical, like the way she read bedtime stories and sang lullabies to my sister and me.
The truth is that when you listened to her pray and sing, you would feel so much peace, joy, and love, and you would find yourself drifting off to a safe place where no problems or fears or dangers lurked.
That night, the place I drifted to in my sleep was a lushly green valley with singing birds, a humming cool breeze and a bright dazzling sun. In that place, my mum was singing joyfully and dancing happily until the dream was replaced by another even more dazzling and mesmerising dream.