A Mistake in a Syringe

When I was a teenager, my use of drugs was on the increase due to how often I battled with health challenges, from low blood pressure to high fever to navel issues, etc. Any month I escape being admitted to the hospital, my grandmother will feel like someone who won an American visa because I lived with her back then and always stress the hell out of her life. It was that bad that, at a point, she got used to my frequent illness and always got mad at me for hating to take my medications. To say that I frustrated that woman back then is an understatement, but it's all in the past now.

In one of those days, I had my worst experience with drugs, the one that nearly claimed my life, and each time I reflected on what transpired that day, the lessons from the experience would be so fresh in my memory. I was given the wrong injection, really an unforgettable experience of my life with drugs.

Image source

It happened that I had low blood pressure coupled with a high fever, and I was admitted to the hospital for some days. After I got discharged, the doctor wrote additional 3 days of injections for me, of which I should be coming from home to take them every morning. I came the first day and took the injections; I came the second day and did the same; and then on the third day, I noticed that the color of the content of these injections was different from what I was given the first and the second day. Just before the nurse injected me, I politely asked her to really cross-check my file to be sure that she is giving me the right injections. I have been very observant, and I can spot the difference in color between the content of the injection she was about to give me and the one I took the first two days.

Hmmm, the nurse felt I was teaching her the job and shouted at me angrily to position my buttocks very well or else she will leave me till further notice. I ignorantly positioned my buttocks and took the wrong injection and went home.
After an hour, my body system suddenly changed, and I began to shake continuously. I kept saying, I told this new nurse that the injection wasn't for me, but she shunned me. I pray I won't die this way. I kept talking like a parrot. After another few minutes, I couldn't talk, and my body was becoming so cold. I was rushed back to the hospital at the emergency unit, and that was how the whole nurses and doctors on duty were running hectors and scatters, injecting different drugs on me to neutralize the wrong injection after verifying what happened earlier. I was right, but the so-called nurse was very careless with her duty.

Source

It took me another night in the hospital to recover from the wrong injections I was given. The most important thing was that I made it back to life. I saw my near-death experience, but mercy said no.
If I had insisted on not taking such an injection when I noticed the color difference, I wouldn't have risked my life like I did, but unfortunately, I wasn't bold enough to speak out. It's a big lesson I learned the hard way. No matter whom you are or any profession you represent, I learned to speak out when needed, especially for matters of life and death.

This post is in response to the #hivelearners community contest on the topic titled Not Just Drugs.