I haven’t been home in 3 weeks. I’ve broken my sim cards. All of them. I’ve flushed them down the drain.
A thousand and one calls would’ve been made to my phones by now. I don’t care. I just want to be free! I want to be ‘dead’. ‘Dead’ to anything that reminds of her. Everything!
Ouuch! The very thought of spending even one more night, just one more night under the same roof with her, stifles my soul. You can as well just feed me to the Lions.
She had surgery for appendicitis. She had developed complications. For the 32 days she was on admission, I bore the brunt, wholly and solely. I waited on her. I ran all the errands, all by myself. I never left her side.
For 4 weeks, I kept vigil at night, and stayed up in the day. I did all with joy. What can a loving and caring hubby, the (so-called) best in the world do? It was what I’ve been doing gleefully through the past 3 years of a childless marriage.
But then, that fateful day, a day before she was discharged, I had curiously flipped through the fat compilation of notes that made up her case file. It was just curiosity. I never cared until then. A Nurse had left it there opened by her bedside. It had never happened before. My curiosity had gotten the better of me. And this curiosity killed my cat.
I saw a statement recurrently written, day after day, throughout the fat file, as introduction: “Known RVD positive patient on HAART”. I was lost. I only knew my wife had appendicitis. Who is RVD? And where the hell is the HAART she’s standing on?
I googled whatever those meant. She’s HIV positive. My wife is positive, and even on drugs.
And me, mumu me, best hubby, knew it not. Rather, I was being played. I was the fool in the circus. The doctors played me. They knew all the while, and must have been looking with pity, at the ignorant loyal fool running helter-skelter.
I blame them not though. They couldn’t have told me, unless she authorised it. Patient confidentiality. They are bound by ethics to keep her secret secret.
I found my way to the gents. I cried my eyes out. I pooped. Nearly pooped out my innards. I almost passed out. She betrayed me. I was drained. I was weak.
But then, I managed to hold it up together. It was like holding my breath under water. It was hard like mad. One thing was sure, I was in this HIV shit already. Surely infected. Me that craved sex next to the breath of life.
I couldn’t even confront her. I hardly had the energy to breathe, let alone stand her. I seemed to have it all together, albeit loosely and delicately. I didn’t want to risk losing it. My mind. My everything. I could kill her. The wicked soul was even urging me to come have sex! It had been a while. She was in the mood. Of course, the mood to kill off my remains. But even my little member knew that was never a moment to arise and shine. It was a time to flee evil, coming in flesh and blood!
She knew something was off. I had become all melancholic and withdrawn. I couldn’t help that. She couldn’t fathom why. She pestered me. Tried seducing me. She got nothing out of me.
Within the next couple of days, I got leave from work. I packed my bags. I left her. I left home. I left everything. Without her knowledge.
She would’ve filed a missing person’s report to the police by now.
I had all along thought we loved each other. That we had the perfect marriage many by popular opinion think impossible. Why in the world would she keep this away from me?
How did she even get HIV? Our premarital screening came out negative. So, where did she get it. She was cheating on me, and then brought it home?.
I’ve always been the good one. I was the virgin, the loyal mumu. She spent the better part of her spinsterhood hopping from man to man, and got her virginity by faith. Christ, sweet Jesus, received her as she was. And made her whole. Made her a virgin back. While me was busy keeping myself. Keeping rubbish up and down.
And what more could she hiding? Maybe she has no womb too. And we’ve been running in circles trying to get pregnant.
Or, why else has she vehemently declined we seeing the gynaecologist. I had gone ahead to have my semen and hormones checked. They came out normal. She refused tests. She said we shouldn’t subject ourselves to man’s report. We should have faith. ‘What difference would the results make?’
Faith, faith , faith! Faith o.
And behold, I received HIV by faith.
Wait first, what did I even marry?
(to be continued..)