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"Um. Okay. But you still have to take them. You said you were sick after we fell asleep. What do you mean sick?"
When she doesn't respond, I poke her shoulder with my forefinger.
"Please, my stomach hurts, everything hurts. I just need to sleep." She groans, again.
I relent. It’s obvious she’s really unwell.
"Listen, sleep, but when you wake up, I'm taking you to the Sanford Clinic unless Bambi has a doctor to recommend. Kojo said that's where he goes for medical attention when he's in Cape Coast and recommended it to me."
"Okay. Fine." She concedes, the lines between her eyebrows, the pucker of lips reminding me that I need to get her something to help her get comfortable.
"I'll go get your medicine and then I'll let you sleep. I've got a breakfast meeting in about thirty minutes. But I'll be back."
I grab my phone and walk out of the room, googling "Is Malaria contagious?" as I go.
14
Lilly
"Mom, I'm fine." I say for the third time.
"Fine is not defined by being hospitalized with Malaria, Lillian. Why didn't you take the pills? You think you're immune to everything. God. What am I going to do with you?” She moans as if she's the aggrieved person.
"I'm only in the hospital because I'm dehydrated. I'm not dying. I'll be out in a couple of days." My head throbs though I don't know if it's from the malaria or the constant phone calls from my parents and sisters, each of them scolding me for not taking my medicine. Each of them threatening to come to Ghana. They're empty threats. Platitudes and pretend. They're not coming all the way here. They didn't fly the three hours it would have taken to get to Miami when they knew something was seriously wrong with me. They’re not flying across the Atlantic Ocean now because I'm a little sick. My headache intensifies.
"Fine. But call me later, let me know you're okay. I don't trust hospitals in Ghana." She sighs, the weariness in her tone makes me feel guilty. I always feel guilty when I talk to my mother.
"Okay. You don't trust hospitals anywhere." I look out of the glass louvered windows, relics from a different era and gaze out into the beautifully manicured courtyard of the hospital. A sudden wave of fatigue overtakes me and I yawn.
"Oh, you're tired my baby. Get some sleep." Her tone is cooing and it grates at me. "Please make sure they have mosquito netting on the hospital windows." She adds quickly, as if she's afraid I'll hang up before she can finish.
"Okay mom. I'll make sure. If they don't I'll find a way to make sure they put some up, just for me." I say dryly.
"I'll attribute your rudeness to your illness and fatigue Lillian Adjoa Hassan." She uses my full name and I want to laugh, although I know she meant for me to feel contrite. I feel a pang of loneliness when I realize how little she really knows me.
"Okay, mom. I love you. I'll call you later." I hang up before she can respond. If she complains, I'll blame it on the poor connection.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try and quell the pounding in my head.
I've been here for three days. I only called my family yesterday when I could talk without throwing up.
Harry had been right. It was malaria and a bad enough case that I need intravenous antibiotics and hydration. I haven't eaten since I got here. I can't hold anything down.
The doctor keeps telling me I'm lucky my symptoms manifested while I was here. “They don't know how to treat Malaria in America. You might have died." He’s said every time he's come into my room and I'm showing improvement.
I was scared when I woke up that morning in Harry's hotel room. The second time, I woke up. The sun was casting long shadows
across the room and I knew it was late in the afternoon. My head felt like it was being crushed in a vice and my nausea brought me to my knees. Harry had been working at the desk in the other room of his suite and I could hear the furious clacking of keys on his keyboard. I'd tried to take myself to the bathroom without disturbing him. I'd failed miserably.
The world had pitched sideways when I stood up and I'd thrown up all over his hotel room floor.
I close my eyes, speeding past the memory of him finding me on my hands and knees, covered in vomit. And how he'd not missed a beat helping me up, putting me in the shower.
Even now, I can feel his hands running over me as he washed me, dried me. He even stopped to put lotion on me when I told him that I couldn't bear to get dressed without it.
Porsha had arranged for me to see a Dr. Halm. She came and insisted on taking me to the hospital herself and I’m glad she did – I almost checked in under my real name. I also thanked God that in Ghana, if you have cash to pay, they don’t care about your ID. I was able to check in under the name Emma Scott. Kojo and Harry brought me here and I was too weak to protest the entourage.
I've been in the hospital since. Bored out of my mind. But Porhsa's been here almost every day. She had to leave today, she's already missed the first two days of lectures in order to stay with me. But now that I'm clearly out of the woods, she has to go back.
