Tuesday, June 19, 2012

DIARY OF AN OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE.




Did I lock the door?

I'm not so sure

Its just been a few minutes

I've not walked too far

Will go back and check it.



There! Its locked. That's good

Now I'm sure, I can leave

Time to continue on my way, I'm running late...

...Wait! Am I really sure?

What if I turned the key without locking it?



Must go back again

But this time wash my hands

For surely, they've been soiled

Slight stain on the side

A good scrub should wash it off.






There! Hands Clean, time to go...

...Wait! Did I just touch the toilet handle?

Can't possibly leave with hands contaminated

I have to start all over again

Have to wash my hands over again.




NB: The Oxford handbook describes Compulsions as senseless, repeated rituals. And Obsessions as stereotyped, purposeless words, ideas, or phrases that come into the mind.

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And 2

Sunday, June 17, 2012

MANAGING YOUR HUSBAND'S HOSPITAL.





I once knew a Doctor's wife

You would have thought she was a Doctor

but she had no degree

apart from her love for her husband.



She knew all the doses of the drugs

She knew where all the drugs were kept

She knew most of the patients in the wards

She could almost guess the right diagnosis if asked.



She attended the Women's Ante-Natal classes

And even got up to lecture the pregnant women

She monitored the nurses

And kept a keen eye on the accounts.



I never had a problem with the Doctor's wife

Until that fateful day

When she put her head through my door

And suggested what drug I should give my patient.






IMAGE COURTESY.

Monday, June 11, 2012

THE ABORTIONIST.





Try as he could

He could not wash away the blood stains

His hands remained crimson red

He turned on the hot water.



He'd done it hundreds of times

This couldn't be any different

Could it?

Bar after bar of soap lathering into the sink.



Was he hallucinating?

Tired and spent, he slid into his room

Surely, after a nap, it would all be gone

Must prepare for tomorrow.



The baby voices came through the night

Shrill, distinct, eerie

They laughed; their chatter hounding him

He clutched his sheets.



"What do you want?" He asked

They continued to haunt him

Waking up, his body drenched with sweat

A new day, he had a decision to make.





Out, damned spot! Out, I say! ~Lady Macbeth.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

LIVING WITH HIV.







The fever raged like a wildfire through her body

Eating up everything in sight

It burned, the embers searing her being

Finally releasing the ashes on her frail skin

Her skin was hot, so hot.



She was too weak to move

Her limbs unable to respond to the simple order by her mind.

"Move!" They were told

But all they could do was hang limply by her side

They could easily have belonged to someone else.



Her mind which gave the orders already facing its own crisis

The real had become the unreal

The known had become the unknown

Her mind played tricks on her

As the virus marched unopposed through her brain.



Her body showed the result of the assault

Her weight no more than a ten year old's

Her skin as pale as the mid-day sun

Her legs spindly as spaghetti sticks

A bag of bones, she looked, pleading at me.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

GRIEVING GROUPS.






There were so many cars

Glistening under the heat of the mid-day sun

Cars brought by Beautiful people

Indeed, the beautiful ones are already born.



It could easily have been a rally for a political party

Or business men gathered, waiting for a meeting

It could have passed for a student congress

Or a wealthy society meeting.



Looking from afar, it would appear so

A closer look would change that point of view

For what appeared like a society meeting

Were grieved people, all waiting for a cue.



Its been a national disaster

Of the worst kind any can imagine

The mournful faces come to identify their dead

Their loved young, adult, and aging.






Image courtesy