FICTION : The blood donor

“Fatma is very sick. She is at the ICU King Faisal Hospital!” said our secretary. “The doctors are looking for a donor with blood group O+ urgently. Do you qualify?” I sat down where I was standing and momentarily passed out. I didn’t even answer back my caller. My colleagues unbuttoned my shirt and laid me under the shade of a tree. They frantically tried to blow some air using their shirts for me to regain my conscious. It did not take long before regaining consciousness. “What’s up?” they asked curiously. “What was that all about?” they insisted on knowing. I told them of the bad news and it didn’t seem to bother them as it did to me. I was not surprised. After some minutes we were all seated at the ICU’s lobby. I was particularly uncomfortable. None of my mates new the connection I had with Fatma. Furthermore, I was considering donating blood to her but was scared to do so for some reason. Fatma was our administrator and very hardworking. She was always well groomed and everyone in the office respected her. She was assertive and eloquent to the admiration of many. She was smart and knew her work. Her job description befitted her. To crown it all, she was gorgeous! A voluminous long nosed nurse came at the lobby in a hurry and asked whether there was any of us who had the blood group which was needed. We were numb. “We’ll let you know in five minutes time,” I told her after some solemn silence. “We are talking of saving life here and the blood is urgently needed since we don’t have any at our blood bank,” she told us and rushed back to the ICU. We looked at each other. We all understood the nurse well but the thought of subjecting our blood for screening disturbed us immensely. “Whoever is not guilty, let him be the first to cast the stone,” Jesus once told a group of men who wanted to stone a woman caught in the act. Sure enough, none of them dared so the story goes. The doctor on duty came and expressed the need for us to donate the blood. This time round, Fatma’s relatives were seated with us. Most of them were willing to donate blood to save the life of their loved one. “Fatma has undergone a serious surgery and lost a lot of blood as she was giving birth. She seriously is in need of blood,” the doctor reiterated what had already been said by the nurse. Around nine months prior to the hospitalization of Fatma, we had met at a party. The party was organized by my cousin. It happened that they schooled together. My cousin was going abroad for further studies and had called friends and relatives for a farewell party. She had kept contact with Fatma and invited her. I was unaware of their friendship and Fatma didn’t know either that her friend was my cousin. I was not very close to her due to the fact that she was my boss. The party was well organized and attended by affluent people. We freely dined and wined. I got this one time golden opportunity to freely interact with my boss. It was difficult at first but thank God concoctions did magic. Night came and the entertainers were doing their part superbly well. Music flowed, revitalizing our souls at the same time evoking some of our past memories. We laughed and danced. As the night was getting old so were our differences with Fatma fading away. My cousin had made arrangements to accommodate some of her guests. Fatma however was not to spend the night. Her husband had given her until midnight to return home. My cousin came to where we were seated with Fatma and I excused myself to give them time to chat. I sat some few yards from where they were seated enjoying the cool music coming from the background as I sipped my red wine. “He who loves not wine, women and song remains a fool his whole life long,” Martin Luther once said. “Come to think of it,” I thought after realizing that I was secretly admiring my boss from the corner I was seated. My eyes were seeing another being not the one am used to in the office. I could spot curves I never saw before! My thoughts were running uncontrollably wild when my cousin beckoned me. I went to where they were seated. “Take these car keys and drop your boss to her place. And, please, take care,” my cousin told me, to my surprise. I placed the goblet with my red wine on the table, took the keys and Fatma followed me to where the car was parked. I opened the rear door for her but she insisted she wanted to seat with me in front. I did as she said. She was my boss after all. A drunken boss at that! She threw herself on the seat and sat slackly. I ignited the car, reversed and started moving. We had not gone far before she started cuddling me. Simply put, we misbehaved on our way to her place. Long before we met, there was a strong rumour that Fatma could not conceive. She had stayed for three good years after marriage without conceiving. Seated on that hospital lobby, my thoughts were roaming. I was thinking of the various possibilities. “Supposing I donate blood and it resembles that of the infant. What would be the consequences?” I thought. “Due to the seriousness of the patient, we will have to sample all of your blood and will inform you who qualifies and who doesn’t.” The doctor told us after realizing we were slow in deciding. Samples were taken. Two qualified. I was among them. At least I had passed the first test. I was negative! The doctor asked me briefly of my medical history as he led me to some bed. A staff came, cleansed an area on my arm, and inserted a needle for the blood drawing procedure. “You are pumping well,” the staff commented. I didn’t bother to answer back. At this time, all I wanted was to at least have a glimpse of the tot. The process took around seven minutes. I was given some refreshment and was directed to a room to relax. I requested the nurse to take me to the nursery where the toddler was kept. Its ears and mouth said louder than words could. Talk of a man in siege! Ends