This other side mama knows not about





Photo: Wakini Kuria
By Wakini Kuria

Living with arthritis is not easy, has never been easy. Joint pains that never seem to cease. If it’s not the limbs then it’s the knees or both. Swallow a couple of painkillers and the relief is bliss up until they wear off and you will need support to move about, feed, bathe or just comb own hair. Simple tasks such as lifting a spoon to your mouth becomes quite a task while wearing a shoe becomes a heavy weight lifting challenge.


I am ever surprised how l will walk into a room and take a seat. Several minutes later, when l make about to leave, only to realise that l can’t walk. My mum and l joke that ‘Diesel imeisha!’ as she supports me to wherever l was going. Meanwhile, my face will be contorted with pain, whimpering here and there. 


Long before we realised that red meat was bad for me, my grandpa whose loves for nyama choma and the brown bottle was profound would cut pieces for me, as l sipped soda. Later, my poor dad would carry me home as grandpa too limped to bed, albeit drunk and tomorrow we would repeat the same thing. Sigh!


Doctors said cold weather, animal products, processed foods and proteins are my sworn enemies and my mother followed that religiously. I would be stuffed in warm clothes, mostly woollen, was made to stay indoors and would be beaten if l dared shed off the many layers or ventured outside. My love for milk died at the doctor’s table as he printed out my diet-sheet and that’s how l became a vegetarian, with only white meat to enjoy and lots of vegetables. My friend in college christened me ‘rabbit.’   


I bid goodbye to processed drinks, dairy products, the much loved pork, citrus fruit and proteins. When little, I had to bear it all since mum was around and stood guard like a cop but today with no one looking l steal away and consume something. I call it my moments of relapse where l venture out and ‘treat’ my cravings. It would be that citrus fruit, ice cream, juice or pork. Passion fruit was my favourite fruit before that doctor happened. Now its bananas. I just can’t have enough!


My dark moments when l go drinking. This time not soda but alcohol. Vodka seems to be calling me from the shelf, and an occasional puff. I still do eat pork. My dad brings me some at home. He’s very innocent at this. Of course l can’t, won’t tell. 


I go for my every three-month painkiller jab that makes me feel super powerful. I can almost lift an elephant by myself, almost do a marathon-race, and do laundry, dishes and all else that l am unable to do when running low on my ‘diesel.’  This time l will touch cold water and not ‘notice’ it but wait until when, it wears off and I am almost going nuts with pain and withdrawal symptoms. 


Otherwise on my good days, I am hyper, fun and ‘wild’ which isn’t good with an inborn sense of adventure and a dare-devil spirit that visits on its own time. Maybe l should mention that the 3-month jab consists of steroids. My poor parents are unable to contain me when l go wild.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Matatu operators be the best now. Don't you agree?

Ladies at the gents

THE MAN THAT WAS MY GRANDFATHER