2017 was quite the year of trials for my family, I lost my Dad on the 15th of June, and in the midst of preparing to lay him to rest, I got admitted to the hospital for menstrual cycle-related issues. About a year prior, I’d noticed my cramps were all of a sudden becoming unbearable and got worse with each cycle. In November, I went for a performance when I was on my period and ended up in the hospital because of the excruciating pain. A scan showed I had a benign polycystic right ovary. I did a few more scans after that. The pain got worse with each month but I never wentto see a gynaecologist.
At the top of 2017, [my family and I] decided to take a trip to Manchester, England. I was excited about this opportunity to travel with my dad and my sister, Chelsea, to see my older sister, Seyi, and her husband. In the past, I had let my career get in the way of family travels and as a result, missed out on making certain memories with them. Heck! I moved to Lagos from Abuja to chase my dreams and only went back home once in a while. This time, I wanted a different result, thinking about it, I like to believe my spirit was sensitive to the fact that my life was about to
change forever.
During our trip, my period came with the regular pains and I was unable to keep any solid or liquid down for 3 straight
days. Our family friend suggested a pill to me which she claimed had suppressed her cramps. I survived that episode but made sure I took the pill on my next period and I was absolutely fine. I didn’t want to have to rely on the pill so I
decided not to bring it with me on a trip to Ibadan.
On the 4th of July, my period came again and it was the worst I had ever experienced. My mum tried her best to help soothe the pain with a hot water bottle. I was throwing my guts up over and over again until I got to the base of my strength, physically and mentally. Not taking the pill along on this trip obviously countered my not wanting anyone to see me in that state because I could feel my siblings and cousins’ eyes dig holes in me as they watched as I got held up by family members around me. The ride to the hospital, though 10 mins long, was never ending. I mourned in pain
with every speed bump. The next thing I felt was a sharp sting that made me scream. It was an injection that hurt me
more than anything in the world, which was very unusual as I think they’re a piece of cake. It was as if my high threshold for pain reduced to the barest minimum with dad’s passing. All of a sudden, I was freezing. Everything in me hurt. Even the most tender touch registered in my brain and on my body as excruciating pain. I was so weak. Tests came back the next day to suggest I had appendicitis and it was near rupturing.
Big Daddy suggested we get a second opinion and that I at least be allowed to go for my dad’s funeral. He assured
the hospital that he’d make sure I was careful and that at the slightest complaint, I’d be rushed back to the hospital with
immediacy. I signed a discharge consent form and was allowed to leave. We met with our second opinion, Dr Marinho, a good friend of Big Daddy who scanned my abdomen and pelvis to find the ovarian cysts on my right side and two tiny fibroids on my left. I was fine by that time as the pain which had subsided was period -related and my period was over. I was instructed not to wear any heels to be safe.
The wake was on the 6th of July and I made it there. I went on stage with the help of my brother to read the bible
passage. I was exhausted by the time I got back to my seat. The next day was the funeral. I made it with my family to the lying-in-state. We were all emotional from seeing my dad in the casket. Suddenly, I was finding it hard to breathe. I thought to alert my uncle or perhaps just stay quiet as it could all be in my head. A few minutes later, after being certain that I had trouble breathing, I told my sister and she told Big Daddy. He immediately asked that I be taken to the hospital. A second cousin of mine, Dr Shola, worked at the UCH Ibadan so she accompanied me. On the way, she took my blood pressure and heart rate which seemed fine. By the time I’d gotten to the hospital, my heart rate had dropped. They kept taking my blood pressure and heart rate and every time they did, it lowered. Even though I had started to breathe normally and felt fine, my heart said something else. It dropped all the way to 37 bpm, which was really low and so they kept me for observation. I couldn’t make it to the grave site. I didn’t get to say goodbye to my dad. I was hysterical. I did all I could to get them to let me go bury my dad to no avail. I was a state, threatened to take off the drip but after a while, I slept off. Then I woke up in anger, the type of anger that could cause one to take the life of
another. I was furious but I had to take a second to pray against that angered spirit and say goodbye in my heart. My best friend felt that anger because when I was done praying in my heart, she prayed for and consoled me. My heart rate came up a little bit to about 50 bpm so they discharged me.
I got home to meet a few of my friends who’d attended the funeral and heard I was admitted. Moments later my uncle
called me outside to a surprise. There was a guard of honour waiting for me with my friends and family cheering me on. They just wanted me to feel better and I did for a bit. That night, I couldn’t breathe and got admitted for real to UCH. Then came a series of tests and scans. They eventually diagnosed me with Endometriosis alongside the ovarian cysts and fibroids. I had to wait a whole week on admission before they could operate because of my low heart rate. My heart was literally skipping a beat. I believe to this day that I was suffering from a broken heart. I had lost my dad, the first male figure in my life.
My biggest fan… The surgery was done and I came out of it successfully to the glory of God. The passing of my dad and dealing with post-surgery has been a ride. I’m dealing with side effects that include premature induced menopause and weight gain. The outcome has featured love and support from my family; bringing us closer together; reevaluating my priorities to understand that family comes first; learning about this new, vulnerable me; patience; understanding of certain things and dealing with situations differently. All in all, I thank God for seeing me through this experience. I’m still coming to terms with how He did it. How I was able to get through it unscathed. I’m honestly in awe of my recovery process. One would never know what I went through if I don’t mention it I think my Dad went to make a petition on my behalf. It could have been worse but I’m thankful because I know he’s my guardian angel. I know he’s always with me and I pray I have the courage and strength to make him proud and keep his legacy alive. I can’t wait to be able to go visit him to tell him how sorry I am for not making the most of the last months we had, for always being at loggerheads with him. To tell him I’m now understanding that he was the way he was and did the things he did because he loved me. Importantly, I can’t wait to tell him how I’ve been fairing, tell him my plans and thank him for everything he did for me while he was alive and even in death.

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