ITCH, ITCH, AATCH!
I have developed this itch on my entire body and all I can say is that I am lucky to be sane.The itch began like the one that begins in your throat, then when you try to scratch your throat by use of oxygen, meaning you lock up the air way, because you are now a wise person and do not try to use the handle of a spoon anymore for this type of itch, it moves to the back of your nose and when you put your small finger in your nose, the itch jumps into the ears and the cycle begins all over again.
Frustrated, you look for a knife to slit your throat open so you can scratch it and the itch suddenly disappears.The itch is probably sent by a colleague at work who is eyeing the 'Employee of the year award', and must have it taken away because he thinks he will get the award and it is more thrilling for him to see your fallen face when he receives the award than watch you slit your throat open.
This itch I have developed felt like it had gone full circle and had discovered more ground to cover like the red blood cells and I could literally feel the itch flowing in my blood vessels. At one time it would be on my calves, probably where the red blood cells would stop to 'scratch' by rubbing against one another and within a three-hundredth of a second, it would move onto my scalp.
I decided (against reason) to go and see a real skin doctor when the itch felt like it had settled on the base of my brain- meaning it had the ability to move to the lungs and liver and who knows what an itch on these internal vital organs can lead one to do.
So I went to the doctor and after telling him what was wrong with me (the itch),he started asking me all these questions that were totally unrelated to my affliction - like
1.What have you been eating in the last two weeks?
2.Did you travel?
3.Have you changed your bath soap?
Of the three questions, I was glad for the last one because I was afraid of the doctor accusing me of being dirty and unwashed and this would honestly have devastated me.
I answered all the three questions in the negative which means the only thing the doctor should have said was 'It sure beats the heck out of me why you have the itch' But not a doctor. He went ahead and scribbled something in their trademark illegible handwriting on a pad and gave me two papers. One was for a prescription and one for a consultancy fee. I advise us to be asking for half the consultancy fee because we give the doctors half the information to help them find out what's wrong with us or we demand that they figure out what is wrong with us without our help if they want the whole amount. But with the itch, I wanted quick relief and didn't mind his incredulous charge until the third day, with the itch still there.
I visited the doctor again and he said that the itch was gone but my brain had been reprogrammed by the itch to respond to all stimuli as itch- so that when I felt hungry the brain screamed -itch! When the doctor says such things you think that the only option you have is a brain transplant, which he suggested, but I flatly refused. You are aware that what the doctor suggested meant amputating my brain and replacing it with probably that of a sheep or worse a university's student which means that I cannot relate anymore with my fellow Kenyans without throwing stones at their cars or setting buildings on fire. I went with the option which the doctor called 'knocking me off' for a few hours with piriton. It worked and now I am up and about, a few thousand shillings less, the itch gone and a perfectly working brain, thank God.
Frustrated, you look for a knife to slit your throat open so you can scratch it and the itch suddenly disappears.The itch is probably sent by a colleague at work who is eyeing the 'Employee of the year award', and must have it taken away because he thinks he will get the award and it is more thrilling for him to see your fallen face when he receives the award than watch you slit your throat open.
This itch I have developed felt like it had gone full circle and had discovered more ground to cover like the red blood cells and I could literally feel the itch flowing in my blood vessels. At one time it would be on my calves, probably where the red blood cells would stop to 'scratch' by rubbing against one another and within a three-hundredth of a second, it would move onto my scalp.
I decided (against reason) to go and see a real skin doctor when the itch felt like it had settled on the base of my brain- meaning it had the ability to move to the lungs and liver and who knows what an itch on these internal vital organs can lead one to do.
So I went to the doctor and after telling him what was wrong with me (the itch),he started asking me all these questions that were totally unrelated to my affliction - like
1.What have you been eating in the last two weeks?
2.Did you travel?
3.Have you changed your bath soap?
Of the three questions, I was glad for the last one because I was afraid of the doctor accusing me of being dirty and unwashed and this would honestly have devastated me.
I answered all the three questions in the negative which means the only thing the doctor should have said was 'It sure beats the heck out of me why you have the itch' But not a doctor. He went ahead and scribbled something in their trademark illegible handwriting on a pad and gave me two papers. One was for a prescription and one for a consultancy fee. I advise us to be asking for half the consultancy fee because we give the doctors half the information to help them find out what's wrong with us or we demand that they figure out what is wrong with us without our help if they want the whole amount. But with the itch, I wanted quick relief and didn't mind his incredulous charge until the third day, with the itch still there.
I visited the doctor again and he said that the itch was gone but my brain had been reprogrammed by the itch to respond to all stimuli as itch- so that when I felt hungry the brain screamed -itch! When the doctor says such things you think that the only option you have is a brain transplant, which he suggested, but I flatly refused. You are aware that what the doctor suggested meant amputating my brain and replacing it with probably that of a sheep or worse a university's student which means that I cannot relate anymore with my fellow Kenyans without throwing stones at their cars or setting buildings on fire. I went with the option which the doctor called 'knocking me off' for a few hours with piriton. It worked and now I am up and about, a few thousand shillings less, the itch gone and a perfectly working brain, thank God.
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