February is here, so is my annual physical – part one

By PETER GAITHO
Published February 7, 2010

Thank God for February. It is the month of the ground hog, super bowl and love. It is also the month of my annual physical exam.

Legend has it that on Feb. 2, the ground hog comes out of hibernation. If it sees its shadow, then winter will last for six more weeks. If it does not see its shadow, prepare for a long cold season. I leave the matter to those who believe in this old wives’ tale. But it seems they are a region here to influence the whole country, to commemorate the Ground Hog Day.

Feb. 14 will remind lovers to read 1 Corinthians Chapter 13, which ends with this note: “And now three things remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I concur with Cole Porter who said, “Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. Let’s do it, let’s fall in love.”

I have a confession to make. In the last three years, I have been in and out of the doctor’s office and the hospital so much that I have lost count. In my life in Jamhuri, the first time I went to the hospital, was when my father colluded with my brothers, to turn me into a man. It was at Rift Valley General Hospital, Nakuru, one December morning, where I went in as a boy, and came out a limping man.

After that day, the number of times I went to the hospital could not equal the number of fingers on my left hand. Therefore, my numerous visits to the doctor, across the Atlantic need some explaining.

Do not think I have developed chronic illness- thank God. Neither am I addicted to the hospital smells. My benevolent employer made me go to the hospital against my wishes, for which I do not regret.

It went like this. In order to continue being a bi-weekly pay stamp receiver, I had to prove that I was fit for the job. So I was hooked to a health insurance company, and given this medical history form to search for a primary care doctor and have him fill the blank spaces.

These blank spaces were so many; I never knew there were these many diseases. The first part of the form was easy to fill; my age, height, weight, bla bla bla. Then it went downhill from there. How was I to know my birth weight? After all, my mother never kept my immunization records. I was born when cobwebs were medicine, hello!

On and on the form went. I give credit to the person who designed that form. It covered from head to toe, turned me inside out and naked. I have never felt so helpless before a paper. Then the form went for the jugular. It asked for me to undress and have the doctor, a stranger, poke and ask, touch and fondle, especially my genitals. That was going too far. Can I sue someone for the intrusion of my inner sanctum?

I thought the ordeal was over when I was sent back to the triage nurse, only to discover it was the beginning of my agony. She first drew so much blood from my left arm, I almost fainted. Then I was handed two plastic containers, and sent to the bathroom for urine and solid waste. God have mercy.

I remembered a similar situation 1993, in a government hospital in Nakuru. I was about to join the university with a difference in Eldoret. But Kenya being what it was- and still is- all I needed was Kshs 100; and the medical form was filled in my absence. I was recommended the healthiest freshman without seeing a doctor. But that was another life.

In the land of 50 stars, there is no short cut. The road is straight and narrow, so by miracle I produced what the nurse needed after 10 minutes of pushing, and talking to my bowels to produce something.

“Come back after a week for your results, and have a discussion with the doctor,” the nurse told me as I dressed.

“I do not want to see you people again in this life,” I screamed inside. But I said something else.

Tell me, you who know, how do you face someone who has seen you inside out? That person has so much information about you; it is scaring even to think about it. What used to be my private self is now out there with the public.

There once lived two behaviorists, Joseph Luft and Harry Ingham. They came up with the now famous Johari window, to explain our public self and private self. Private self is supposed to remain that private. But when someone gets into your private self, like the doctor and the nurse did to me; I feel violated even though I know it is for my good. At least the two of them are lucky for now.

As I left the doctor’s office, I looked around and saw other patients pretending to read old magazines. The receptionist said something I do not quite remember. I thought everyone I met knew what I went through. That is why they were stealing glances at me.

I had seven days to wait for the results of my first true annual physical exam. You too can wait for seven days to know how the results came out. Won’t you? For now, go out, give love and you will find love.

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