coffee conversations

Coffee with Ameena #16

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If we were having coffee, I’d ask you how your night was and hope it was better than mine because that thing called “menstrual cramps” shortened my sleep at around 3:30am. At 3:30am, while the world was asleep, it all made sense to me why I was irritable and incredibly hungry and craving for the majority of last week.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you how I was curled up in pain and yet scared to ask my sleeping sister to give me my diclofenac injection because I was scared she might inject me wrongly in her slumber and then from simply wanting to end period pain, I would end up developing injection abscess which would require incision and drainage and daily dressing and antibiotic intake. In summary, being a medical doctor and seeing things has damaged me and turned me paranoid.

If we were having coffee, I would first put a disclaimer that for the most part, I was an excellent student (this is me trying to console myself), but… there was this one time in university, I flunked an exam so bad that I came out of the hall knowing I flunked it.

And then, news came around that majority of us failed the exam. It was my first internal medicine clinical paper. Well folks, till this day, which is almost 2-3 years later, I have refused to see the exam result. If I believe and tell myself that I got an A in that exam, then I got an A in that exam. Nobody can tell me nothing. If we were having coffee, I’d sip my coffee and stare at you, daring you to say otherwise.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you, the past week has been a week of “I cannot come and go and kill myself” in summary. If I had a dollar for every time my friend and I have uttered that phrase or any of its variation this week, we would have been rich by the end of the week. If we were having coffee, I’d ask you which phrase registered on your lips the most, this week.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you how when I was about 9 years old, it was late at night and I was on the bed when a “devilish” cockroach started flying around the room. The next thing I knew, I was jumping down the bed, landed on the ground and slipped, slid across the tiled floors and hit my waist on the cupboard at the other side of the room. And you know the worst part, I can’t even remember if the cockroach was caught and killed or not.

Fast forward to about 12 hours later, I found myself laying on the floor in my underwear with a “traditional bone fixer” (if you are a Nigerian, you know who I am talking about). The bone fixer was trying to put my hip joint back into place because apparently it had dislocated, at least that was what I was told. If we were having coffee, I’d tell you how I remember laying on the ground, screaming at the top of my lungs and wondering how a man who was trying to break my bones, could be called a bone fixer.

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you how when I started writing this post, I was in the state of hiding out in my room despite knowing there were visitors, simply because I am not in the mental space to play nice, so I’d rather wallow alone. And sometimes, a girl just needs silence, peace and a cup of coffee.

And on that note, I wish you a week filled with loads of laughter, love and of course, a mug overflowing with coffee.

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