25/06/2025
🌿💊🌬️ WHISPERS FROM THE YELLOW SCARF 💊🌿__________________________________________________
PART SIX - By Pharmacist Rady - Doses Of Hope
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Before I saw their faces, I saw the beast they rode in—That white ambulance -The mighty land cruiser cruising the well known ghost of western province – Sand! It matched the looks of Catherine Phiri after a successful boxing match that left her with bruises but victorious. It parked right near the SHA’s office, Panting like a tired hero.
Time? 21:15 hours.
Date? Yesterday.
You see, earlier that day, After a word with the nurse in the ward, I got slapped—not by a hand, But by a truth so sharp it left my ears ringing and my eyes dry - like Sindambi on Bo kuku’s roof (like wild sour vegetables on Grandmother's roof).
Thabo was alive!
Maggie Like and Linda Lubelenga called it
"The Twist of Fate" on yesterday’s post
(Thank you, Facebook comment section—you never disappoint).
So I dialed the ambulance driver, he said, “Just a few more tests. We’ll be back by 20.” I waited like Zambians waited for the body of ECL at the airport. Eight came. Nothing. Nine ticked in, and finally.... They arrived. Not just with a girl we thought we lost, But with the kind of plot twist that even Netflix would envy.
The passenger door creaked open and she came out. A blue chitenge wrapped around her shoulders like armor – Thabo! Her eyes were half-closed against the moon and night lights and she was supported by the nurse who escorted the dual. She nodded at me as I approached — a silent confirmation that we did it.
Next to step out was her grandmother. However, with the advent of the cyber act, I’d rather not describe what she was wearing like I din’t describe the pastors shoes! We move ...
We sat beneath the acacia tree behind the outpatient department. The Escorting nurse and I. It was shaded and sacred — the one place at the hospital where time paused. And there, with the dust still clinging to our shoes, we talked.
“The tests are done pharmacist,” She said. “Biopsy, imaging, everything. They said results in five days.”
I nodded, but before I could speak, the grandmother stepped forward. She reached for my hands. Hers were rough, sunburnt, trembling with age and remorse.
“Mwanake (My Child) … forgive me,” she whispered in Lozi. “I believed the wrong things. I feared what I didn’t understand. They told me you were… that you used dark things. I was blind. You only wanted to help my granddaughter”
Her voice cracked.My eyes became watery - someone was definitely cutting onions - Tears almost spilled over my lashes. I shook my head gently, pressing her hands in mine.
“Bo Kuku (Grandma)” I said softly, “you were just scared. It’s okay to be scared. What matters is that you still chose to fight.”
Then came the Pastor. From nowhere. I honestly did not see him leaving the car or anywhere around the hospital. He just …. Appeared! But without those shoes this time around 😅😂
Tall, composed, but with shoulders heavy with regret. He bowed slightly — more than I expected.
“I judged your kindness as something else. I forgot that healing doesn’t always wear a collar. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, swallowing the storm in my throat.
I went into the ward. I couldn't wait to see lady of the moment. Thabo. She sat beside me, legs dangling off her bed, her fingers nervously playing with the corner of her sleeve.
“You didn’t give up on me,” she said quietly.
“Never,” I replied.
She looked at me — that same fierce, fragile look I’d seen the first day she came to the pharmacy. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"I heard you got in trouble today, is that true."
I smiled "No Thabo. I wouldn't be allowed near the hospital had that been the case. All is well." I concluded.
“Thank you so much. We wouldn't have done all this without your help. I want to live healthy now, Mr Rady. I want to try. Especially after we know what is wrong with my body and treat it.”
My hand found hers, and for a moment, all the noise — the hospital generators, the distant coughing, the murmurs of patients and bedsiders — faded into a hush. There are moments when time breathes. This was one of them.
This evening, I returned home. My shirt still held the scent of the wards — Savlon, Dettol and methylated spirit. I dropped my bag, took off my shoes, and sank into the old wooden chair by my desk.
I opened my laptop, out of habit more than expectation.Then I saw it. In my mail box.
Subject: Lab Report – Thabo M. (Urgent Release)
Received: 6:13 PM
Five days, they had said.But the miracle came tonight. They sent it to me because of my NHIMA details as her guardian.
I stared at the subject line, my heart began to race.I hadn’t even clicked it open yet. But something inside me already knew...It was not going to be easy. With fingers that barely obeyed me, I opened the attachment. A clinical chill swept all over me.
PATIENT NAME: Thabo M.
AGE: 16
S*X: Female
Let me skip the medical jargon I analysed while reading the report. Things like Reed Sternberg cells positive. I know you can barely understand the CD15, CD30 and EBV-LMP1 positives!
FINAL DIAGNOSIS:
Classical Hodgkin Lymphoma – Nodular Sclerosis Type (Stage IV suspected)
COMMENTS:
Recommend staging work-up including CT imaging and bone marrow biopsy. Urgent referral to oncologist advised.
In my house too quiet for a night like this, the air feels heavy. Am still on my desk, head in my hands.The laptop screen is dimming before me.But inside… I am already drowning in the dark.
How do you look into a childs eyes…and tell her she has cancer?
