Halfway through second half of second last chapter : ANCHOR OF MY SOUL !!

About a week after arriving at Medi Clinic, I was sitting and painting on fabric, lost in my own world of thoughts when Dr Fanie came and sat on the bed next to me. I had been so lost in my thoughts that I was quite shocked to suddenly find a doctor, not standing by my bed, but sitting on my bed. He put his arm around me.

“I don’t know how to tell you this. We have your results back”, he said.

“Just say it like it is, Dr Fanie”.

“You are fucked!” he said, giving me another squeeze.

“Really fucked?”

“Really fucked! Mada (Dr Ferreira) sent all your blood work to the Pretoria Research Lab, but I don’t understand enough about it, so she is coming to see you and will explain it all to you”.

“Is there a cure?” I asked.

“No, you got this for life. You are clinically ill”, he said, giving me yet another squeeze around my shoulders.

When he left, I sat there thinking about what he had said. At least I was not mental, insane, faking, lying or a drug addict. There was some comfort in that. I thought about asking him for a letter to give to my family and then again, that stubborn part of me thought, ‘Fuck them!’

About a half hour later, Dr Ferreira arrived, pulled up a chair and sat down next to my bed. She also started with the same words.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Dianne”.

“You can say it like it is Dr Mada. Dr Fanie has already told me I am fucked”, I replied.

“Ja, jy is ‘n bietjie gefok”, she said. She leaned over and showed me a wad of papers with all kinds of blood results, most of which made absolutely no sense to me. “You have Primary Mannin Binding Lectin Deficiency and Secondary Humeral Deficiency”, she said.

“How do you spell those things?” I asked. I could not even repeat them, let alone spell them. Words like these can now roll off my tongue as though I am a specialist haematologist, surprising doctors and nurses no end. I wrote them down as she spelt them for me. “What exactly does that all mean”, I asked.

“Well, it means that you have a serious immune deficiency and you are susceptible to every infection that goes around. Because these are primary and secondary, it means that there is no way that we can boost your immune system. You may have inherited this condition, but we are not sure. You don’t have the building blocks for the immune system” she explained.

“Is there a cure?” I asked again. I was forever chasing the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I just could not accept a 'no cure' verdict.

She shook her head. “I am sorry. There is no cure. You will have to be treated with Polygam every two weeks for the rest of your life, and you will have to have prophylactic antibiotics. This will not cure you, but it will extend your life. I am sorry”, she said, putting her hand onto mine and giving it a squeeze.