I was good at faking an illness in boarding school back in my junior secondary days. I wasn’t a prescription drug addict so it wasn’t about wanting to have pills shoved down my throat. I usually did it close enough to our visiting day so my parents were worried enough to get permission to take me home for better treatment. That instantly meant plenty cable TV time without having to listen to my annoying Business Studies teacher.
But I must have been 12 years old or so when I actually fell ill for real, many days before visiting day. There was no one to baby me so I had no choice but to be sent straight to the school clinic and dumped with the school nurse. There were legendary tales about her. And you know secondary school tales can be legendary.
Anyways, the malaria was killing me and I just needed something, anything to make me live again. She called me up after a few minutes. I tried to stand up but was too dizzy. She went; “My friend stand up. There are other people waiting.” I eventually went to her. She felt my neck with the back of her hands, checked my eyes and told me to sit. She pulled out a syringe, and filled it with something, then told me to pull my shorts down and submit my buttocks.
Poke! Then she pulled out the needle. I thought to myself that it went by really fast. Just as I was about to put on my shorts, she said; “I haven’t given it yet.” I was startled. Then she wiped another spot on my butt cheek with her cotton wool and poked again. Three seconds later, she pulled it out again. I asked if she was done and she said; “No, I’m not getting the spot well.” At this point, I was just about ready to die and make sure she got sued for murder.
