I have been sleepwalking since I was little due to the nightmares I experienced each day I turned the lights off
to sleep. A friend I once shared a bed with described how I got up in the night and went for a wander, talking to myself, before climbing back into bed. On another occasion, a hotel receptionist had to guide me back to my room after I appeared at his desk. Apparently, I sleepwalk with my eyes open, but I know nothing of what happens until I am told about it the next morning.
These episodes have always been treated as a bit of a joke. When I did a night-time tour of my boyfriend Fred’s house one night before returning oblivious to bed, we laughed about it the next morning, barely acknowledging what a lucky escape I had. But it happened again.
Fred was living in an old terrace house with very steep flight stairs leading up the front door to the landing outside his bedroom. At the bottom of the stairs was a cramped space with just a radiator and bare laminate floor; across the landing from the bedroom was the bathroom.
Perhaps I’d walked to the toilets in my sleep and imagining I was in my own home, stumbled on the way out. At first, Fred assumed the crash that woke him was a break-in, and then he realized I wasn’t behind him. As he reached the top of the stairs, our friend Kate, who was also staying that night, emerged from her room. When Fred saw my motionless body, at the foot of the stairs, his first instinct was to rush down to move me. My knees were drawn up into my chest, my face was bloody and more blood had pooled underneath me.
But Kate, a nurse, warned Fred not to touch me. I checked I was still breathing and called 999. I don’t know at what point I became conscious of what was going on but I remember the voice of the paramedic saying, “Well, that’s definitely broken, and I suspect that is, too.”
At the hospital, I drifted in and out of consciousness and had a full body scan to find out the extent of my injuries. Some were obvious-both my wrist was broken, the right one at an impossible angle. It appears I’d thrown out my arms as I fell and my hands had taken the full force of the fall, then I’d slammed face-first into the radiator in the hallway. That accounted for my broken eye socket, cheekbones, jaw, and nose, as well as all the blood. I’d broken ribs as well, sheared off part of bone in my neck.
But it was when a doctor told me my back was broken that I felt real fear.
“Will I wake up again?” was the first thing I asked myself.
I learned I was suffering from a compression fracture. I underwent surgery to fix my wrist with metal plates, while other broken bones were set, established, and realigned. My daughter Oliphia who was six at that time had been staying with my mother on the night of the accident.
When I got home 10 days in the hospital, she started to call me “Metal mum” and took great pride in helping me put my back brace each morning-I had to wear it for four and half months I struggled with the simplest tasks at first; my broken wrist means I could not even grip a cup.
Fred had to lift me out of the bath. Three and half years down the line, I experienced back pains that continued to swell vigorously. I had to find a solution as I could not bear this anymore. I continued to sleepwalk this time round with more frightening dreams and nightmares. Things became tougher as I had metals to support my broken body parts. Any time I had a nightmare I would even fall by the kitchen crushing everything I found on my way.
After some weeks I met Travis former military personnel who had broken his leg while training. This time round he had healed and I wanted to know the secret. He told me he visited Kiwanga Doctors in Kericho where he learned they existed through a testimonial on local radio.
He directed me and the next morning we were at their offices by 6 am. Two days after visiting Kiwanga Doctors, I started walking upright, experienced zero nightmares. There were no more frightening dreams that led to my usual sleepwalking. My life had returned to normal.
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