I have to marvel at the irony: there was I, having just had the electrical output of my brain recorded by EEG and there was no electricity to operate the lifts to take me back down the three floors to the building’s exit. Of course there were stairs but as a disabled person I find them a challenge. Some challenges I enjoy – others just have to be endured – so ignoring a staff member’s suggestion that I wait out the outage, which could be minutes but more likely will be hours, I start down the stairs.
The drive into town is remarkable by it’s ordinariness – no stupid overtaking or creating extra turning lanes at the lights. It’s moderately heavy but flowing. I have memorized the route – it’s not difficult, King George Avenue through Avondale, over what was North Avenue (I couldn’t be bothered with learning the Mugabe era name changes) then second left into Baines Avenue and look for number 60.
Baines Avenue is about as grubby as expected with street vendors, dust and rubbish. I take in the Canadian Embassy across the street (most other embassies are further out of town) but don’t have time to do more than glance before a self-appointed parking attendant asks me where I want to go and waves me into an empty parking bay some 30m from my destination. He is missing teeth, untidy but pleasant. I ask his name and forget it but know that he’ll be there when I come out, hoping for a tip.
It’s a short walk past the vendors’ wares of fruit in season, toilet paper bundles and sticky drinks. There are pineapples and papaya (pawpaw in the local parlance) and bags of ready-to-go peas in the pod with a chili pepper in each bag. The foyer of number 60 is clean and I ask my way to the lifts. Arriving on the third floor I have to pay attention to the PVC tiles that have lifted and are loose. The doctor’s rooms are clean and well-maintained.
Doctor G the neurologist, is a pleasant, very slender, small man in his 50s. We discuss my epilepsy which was initially diagnosed as POCD (post operative cognitive dysfunction) after a lower spine operation some three-and-a-half years ago. The diagnosis was changed to temporal lobe epilepsy when the seizures continued after the two year limit. I decided to see a consultant physician with an interest in epilepsy who starts me on a course of lamotrigine which is the medication of choice for this type of seizure – focal onset aware (or simple partial). An EEG was done which the physician assured me indicated that the medication was working. The seizures became focal onset impaired awareness (or complex partial) and the medication was increased. The seizures changed their nature again. They were the typical “petit mal” seizure, which are preceded by an aura where I can sense a strange taste or smell or hear a woman talking following which I go into a state of “absence”, where I am aware of my surroundings but cannot remember what they are. Now they become a partial complex seizure which last longer. A full suite of tests is ordered. All are normal save for the MRI which shows that the right temporal lobe of my brain is smaller than the left. It’s not progressive. The medication dose is upped again. The seizures, such as they are, change again.
One day at work I cannot remember how to walk down the stairs from my office which is a major problem for me as a disabled person who has to think about every step. Dr G is fascinated and tells me what it’s called (no I cannot remember that either!). These seizures or episodes are no longer momentary – this one lasts several hours and I’m only aware that there’s been a problem when I stand up from the table on the verandah and realize my mind is clear. I mention that I am making a lot of silly errors in the programming that I do for my work software. Dr G misunderstands and thinks that I have taught myself programming recently (I learnt at university) and comments: “At least you can still learn something new – I have never learnt to swim. Years ago my son said to me – Dad it’s easy, you just have to float. My reply was – if it’s so easy why do so many people drown?”. I like this man.
Dr G comments that the lamotrigine is not working as it should but before changing the medication he recommends doing another EEG. I remark that it sounds a lot better than the neurosurgeon who referred me to him whose parting words to me were – “of course the only permanent solution is surgery”. I tell this to Dr G, he smiles and says “that procedure requires very precise measurements”.
The EEG technician is available so we do the EEG right away. I am required to keep my eyes shut for most of the hour. I don’t fall asleep because the chair is so uncomfortable. I ask him how long it will take to analyse the results. “A while” he replies. “There are 360 pages to go through”.
The staircase takes a while to negotiate. Fortunately someone offers to help and I ask her to take one of my walking sticks down so I can use one hand on the railing.
The informal parking attendant is hovering near my pickup truck. Next to my truck a person has his laptop out on the boot of a car and is listening to a smartly dressed gent in a black suit talking intently on his cellphone. The car-watcher reminds me as I get into my truck that he’s hungry. It’s not very subtle but I don’t mind and give him $2.
The drive back home is as uneventful as the one into town.
Zimbabwe Absurdity 