I rinsed my mouth again to evacuate all traces of toothpaste. There was that sour taste again, I spat out the red fluid. We all have injuries sometimes; we could hit one vein leading to bleeding gums it often resolves easily. This condition has however been recurring since last week and sometimes I just feel there’s blood in my mouth without manipulation and it’s usually there.

Initially, I thought it was my hard smoker’s toothbrush and I even changed it to one with soft bristles but the situation did not improve. Besides the bleeding gums, my period had been heavy and had not stopped in two weeks. I had to find a solution to all these nonsense…

“Somebody’s blood should not come and go and finish”

I met with a gynaecologist (a doctor who tends to female reproductive wahala). There were several tests to be carried out- blue forms, pink ones, green ones, ridiculous stares from lousy cashier. The hospital is not in the list of places I even thought I would visit but then, nobody wants to die.
“It could be a genetic disorder, Haemophilia” the doctor said.

“But since it hasn’t been occurring before now, we just have to wait till the results are out”

‘This result had better be out in time’ I told the laboratory scientist.
The red patches on my skin had increased tremendously. They had spread from my arms and legs to my face.

‘This one na bad market o, fine girl don dey get blemish’

Madam, I am sorry but we have to admit you right away the doctor said when I returned with the test results. The complete blood count showed my platelet count was down to 2,000. The normal range should begin at 142,000. Not good, not good at all.
In no time, I was on a hospital bed with nurses sticking needles and tubes through my skin. One of the nurses in a royal blue dress injected a something cold into my arms, she had tried it earlier but it was too frozen to drip so she did it manually. I was made to understand that it was frozen platelets. It was painful.

I had asked to be put in a private room; I couldn’t risk an extra nosocomic infection. Several white ward-coat personas came into my room, they came in groups and spoke to each other in low tones, smiling occasionally at me but it did not disguise their inward feeling of pity
It was quite annoying.
I wanted to go home, but escape was impossible. I couldn’t go to the bathroom, the pad beneath me was changed every hour, it was as though the blood faucet had lost control as the pads were absolutely soaked at change time. Despite this, one blood sucking demon disguised in a nurse’s apparel constantly came to draw blood from me.

“Eeh God, shey this people will not dash me what I did not come with bayi?”

I was totally scared, I wish I could go back to work, go back to my normal life, I wish I had not come to the hospital at all.

“Everything would have been alright, right?”

The doctor had come up with a hideous name for a diagnosis, IDIOPATHIC THROMBOCYTOPENIA PURPURA. The reason for this was not known, it was auto-immune (the immune system began to think for itself and thought it was a good idea to destroy my platelets).
I am much better now, but I have been on immune suppressants, and platelet boosters. The misery of swallowing pills on a daily basis is devastating but I know the dangers attached to doing the opposite

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