A Journey Of Resilience

In the midst of personal reflection and a period of recovery, I find myself compelled to share a different story than the one I had initially planned. While the tale of the AmaZulu Journey will have to wait, I write this article from a place of introspection and growth, lying on my back, with the intention of recounting my recent experiences.

The offer from AmaZulu presented me with a multitude of choices that could significantly impact my future. Despite being offered an opportunity to complete my audit articles with an esteemed Audit Firm, accompanied by attractive corporate benefits, I knew that this was the moment I had been waiting for. It meant forgoing the completion of my articles and adjusting my entire life accordingly. Naturally, I had to assess my budget and identify areas where I could make financial adjustments. Medical aid seemed dispensable at first, as I rarely fell ill. However, a resolute voice urged me to retain it, and I am grateful for the advice and support that made this transition comfortable and manageable.

During a gathering at a friend's place around Easter, I engaged in a delightful conversation with her mother. As an attentive listener, I offered thoughtful comments and raised my eyebrows in genuine interest. Suddenly, I lost all vision in my left eye, unable to perceive anything. For those two minutes, I continued looking out of one eye, maintaining composure, as panicking would only cause unnecessary distress to those around me. I cautiously touched my eye, opening and closing it, shifting my gaze left and right. Darkness enveloped me. Thankfully, my vision gradually returned after those brief moments of apprehension.

Life moves on swiftly, doesn't it? I acknowledged the persistent headaches I had been experiencing before the incident, but I simply resorted to taking pain relievers, dismissing them as inconsequential. However, during a visit to Greyville, one headache persisted throughout the day. Determined to attend a friend's celebration, I took a painkiller, temporarily alleviating the discomfort. It was at this point that I realized the need for heightened attention and concern.

Fortuitously, a person I lived with had a connection to a neurosurgeon and suggested that I seek medical advice. Uncertain about when I would find time off work, an unexpected opportunity arose when we were granted a four-day break from Monday to Thursday. Seizing the chance, I promptly scheduled an appointment for Monday, leading to my admission to the hospital the following Tuesday. Initial tests conducted on Monday yielded positive results, which encouraged the doctor to admit me, a period that felt almost like a holiday, with comfortable accommodations, tailored meals, and ample rest.

After the initial evaluations performed by the neurosurgeon, I was referred to a neurologist. A further test, a CT Scan, was deemed necessary. By that time, I had been cleared for discharge on Thursday morning, making plans for the journey back to Jozi to join the festivities celebrating Brylon and Cidney's momentous milestone. Yet, life's course is not always aligned with our human plans.

In the cafeteria, amidst laughter and camaraderie with my colleagues, the porter, an ardent AmaZulu fan, unexpectedly approached me. "I've been looking for you," he said. "We need to take you for a CT Scan." Although I wasn't well-versed in the distinctions between an MRI and a CT Scan, the medical aid approval prompted me to proceed. Settling my cafeteria bill, I accompanied the porter to undergo another scan, unaware. 

The scanning procedure lasted approximately 10 to 15 minutes. While lying flat inside the large machine, I felt some discomfort in my hand and wondered if it was permissible to move it. Unfortunately, nobody could hear my inquiry as they were located behind a glass partition, only visible through a mirror. Meanwhile, they were casually enjoying cookies and coffee, a situation that my players from Panorama FC would playfully describe as a "soft life."

Upon returning to my room, I mentally prepared myself for my impending discharge on Thursday. I preferred  to rely on medications, as the mere relaxation of my body was precisely what I needed at that moment. Soon enough, the neurosurgeon entered my room and informed me that he was prepared to discharge me, pending approval from the neurologist. Engaging in a friendly greeting, I expressed my well-being while indulging in a biscuit as I awaited breakfast.

Noticing the subtle changes in body language and demeanor, I instantly suspected that the neurologist had something important to convey. And indeed, he explained that the CT scan had revealed swelling around the brain tissue. Naturally, I wondered how such swelling had occurred. However, he reassured me that my blood tests and other indicators were positive, while proposing a procedure called a Lumbar Puncture. Puzzled, I inquired about this unfamiliar procedure. The neurologist explained that it involved extracting fluid from the spinal area, but cautioned that touching a nerve during the process could potentially lead to lower body issues.

My initial reaction to this news was a mix of disbelief and emotional distress. The realization that I, as a coach, could end up in a wheelchair like others I had seen in Boksburg left tears welling up in my eyes. Looking around the room, I found myself alone in a pivotal moment, faced with a life-altering decision. Nonetheless, I assured the doctor that I was prepared to proceed without hesitation. I signed the consent form, and as the medical staff exited the room, I jumped off my bed, went to the bathroom, and stared at myself in the mirror, tears streaming down my face. In that moment, I spoke to myself, affirming, "You've got this!" I washed my face, mustered my strength, and prepared to face the challenge ahead.

I drifted into sleep, only to be awakened an hour later by the arrival of the neurologist. "Let's do it." He declared. I complied, positioning myself in a seated position while focused on the window, slightly bending. Sensing the touch of the doctor making a mark on my spine, I braced myself. I felt the small needle injecting me, followed by another. Glancing to my left, the neurologist instructed me not to look. Respecting his expertise, I complied, acknowledging his authority over the situation. Suddenly, I felt a surge of heat, rendering my body numb and immobilized. Alarmed, I voiced my discomfort to the doctor. Assuringly, the neurologist explained that such sensations were normal and instructed a nurse to stand beside me, reassuring me that we were nearing the end of the procedure.

Finally, it was over. I was instructed to lie on my back for the next six hours, able to eat and perform other activities, but strictly on my side. The nurse attending to me informed me that I would have to use a steel container for urination during this time. Initially, I insisted that I could hold it for the entire six-hour duration, but the nurse insisted otherwise which now became our joke, I had to prove to her I'll hold it in. Due to the effects of the medication, the process became more manageable, and I experienced periods of sleep interspersed with wakefulness.

I pondered whether it would still be possible for me to go to Jozi. The thought of missing such an important event weighed heavily on my mind. Unfortunately, the answer was a resounding no. It was undoubtedly a difficult pill to swallow. My first friend, my closest confidant, was about to embark on a monumental endeavor, and I couldn't be there to celebrate alongside him. The realization was deeply disheartening.

Throughout our journey, we had always celebrated every significant milestone together. However, this particular occasion would be an exception. Nevertheless, I must acknowledge and express my gratitude to my brothers and sister that turned up in my absent, it put me at ease to know that a piece of me was present.

The following day, I was discharged from the hospital, but I knew I had to navigate the recovery process on my own while ensuring that those on the other side focused on the ongoing celebrations. Day by day, I gradually regained strength and embarked on the path to recovery. I learned to listen attentively to my body, catering to its needs, and acknowledging that I hadn't experienced a period of downtime like this since August 2020. It was during the COVID-19 pandemic that I took a moment to breath and access where I am as well as how I am going. I stumbled upon this realization while reading my daily verse on my mobile app, where my prayer list included something with Galacticos Football Club, that had come to pass. God right??

In retrospect, I believe that God was sending me a message and just telling me to take a breath, soak in where I am at. Re-align, refocus and remember this is way bigger than me. I am a pawn to fulfill his purpose.