I Was Lucky To Be Sick On Christmas Day

A few days before Christmas, I fell sick and got admitted to the hospital. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but my dad assured me that we would go home soon. From morning till afternoon, dad would be at the hospital with me, and from late afternoon till the next morning, mom would also be with me.

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Each dawn I would ask my mom, “Are we going home today?” Mom would respond, “Let’s wait and see what the doctor would say.” I didn’t even know the difference between a doctor and a nurse. I thought nurses were female doctors.

One afternoon, my two other siblings and a few kids we lived with in the same neighborhood came to visit. I had spent over a week in the hospital, some days too weak to even talk. When these guys came around, I don’t know where the energy came from, but all of a sudden, I was talking loudly and wanted to get down and walk.

They talked about everything that had been happening in the house and around the neighborhood while I was away. I missed home. I missed my friends. I wanted to be as healthy as them so I could go home. Then they brought Christmas into the conversation. Fiifi said, “I got my Christmas shoes and clothes yesterday. I’m wearing them to church tomorrow.”

Everyone talked about what they were excited about: food, parties, chicken, and soft drinks. I yearned for home immediately. When they left and I was alone, I started crying. Deep tears and sobs. One of the nurses I thought was a doctor, Aunt Beatrice, saw me crying and drew closer. “Andrews, what’s wrong with you? Why are you in tears?” I responded, “I want to go home for Christmas. My friends will have fun without me.”

She sat on my bed and tried to make me feel better. She said, “There’s Christmas everywhere. There will be Christmas here too tomorrow. Don’t be sad, OK? You’ll go home once you’re better.”

I still didn’t stop crying, but honestly, as a child growing up, I only stood aside and watched Christmas from the corner of my eyes. We were not bought new clothes and shoes because my parents couldn’t afford them. Dad was a carpenter. Mom sold little things in season. We hardly ate chicken or drank anything fancy unless, by grace, a neighbor brought us something fancy to eat.

When I woke up the next day, I knew it was Christmas, but nothing was happening at the hospital. I started imagining what my friends were doing in their Christmas hats and glasses. I imagined them jumping and playing in merry while I was stuck in a hospital bed.

When the sun came up, I saw Aunt Beatrice walk into the ward. There was a new kid who had been admitted at dawn, so we were only two in the ward then. The other kid was too sick to even know his own name. Aunt Beatrice shouted, “Merry Christmas.” I responded, “Same to you.”

My mom entered the ward. The mother of the other child also entered. My dad surprisingly appeared with my two other siblings. They wore smiles, as if they had good news to share. Aunt Beatrice went out and came back with a big basket of different things: biscuits, Fanta, fried chicken, a bowl of Jollof, and toffees.

She served me first and served my siblings. She asked us to sing Christmas songs while she shared food, drinks, and happiness. It felt like two things in one: Christmas and my birthday. I was at the center of the occasion. Everything was mine to share. My siblings were so happy and jealous, they wished they were the ones sick.

It lasted like forever. Afterward, Aunt Beatrice asked me, “I hope you enjoyed this Christmas?” I nodded. My mom added, “He’s lucky he’s sick. Where would he have gotten these to eat?”

My siblings took some of the food and drinks home, but there was still enough left for me to eat and drink the next day. To this day, the only Christmas I remember is that day. I never had anything better than that. Every Christmas throughout my younger days, I wished I was sick and admitted to the hospital.

Is There A Man Out There Who Doesn’t Cheat?

I never saw Aunt Beatrice again after I was discharged. Maybe she’s not alive now, but if she is, merry Christmas to her wherever she is. She planted a beautiful memory in my heart, and I’ve carried it through the years.

—Andy

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