The beginning of an end.
It was Easter Monday of 2018 when I woke up with so much nervousness. I felt like my stomach was in knots. I was in no mood to have breakfast or anything. All I could do was wonder what the result of my MRI would be.
It was finally time to get that scan. The one and only test that could determine if my battle with cancer had finally come to an end. I dressed up and was anxious for my 10 A.M. appointment hoping only for the best as I drove to the hospital.
The hospital waiting room was empty and quiet. I walked to the receptionist and gave her my hospital card.
“Please make the payment at the cash point and head to the radiology section,’’ She said. I walked up to the cashier and handed him my money. It was an expensive test with an expensive expectation.
As I walked to the radiology section I said a short prayer hoping that the last cancer cells that were probably in me while I walked into the hospital would disappear as I sat in the radiology waiting room. I had not noticed that I had even crossed my fingers while hoping for the best.
“Miss Jean, you can come right in,” said a very excited man in a lab coat. His excitement made me feel weird for a moment. I wondered why he seemed to be happier being at work than at home with his family during the Easter season.
“Hello, my name is Martins. Please, step into the room and take off all metals on your body. Take off your blouse and put on this garment,” he said while handing me a green hospital garment.
I followed his instructions and lay in the machine. This was the moment of truth. I was about to find out if the pain and financial expenses of the last four months had paid off. The machine was turned on and the noise of the machine scared me but then I tried to focus on good thoughts as I gradually drifted into sleep
Twenty minutes later and a nurse came to help me out of the machine. I got dressed and headed to Martins office.
“So Miss Jean, I want to run an ultrasound to be sure of what I am seeing. There’s nothing to worry about actually but I want to be certain.”
My heart dropped to my stomach as he uttered those words. I walked with him to the ultrasound room with my mind completely blank. It felt like my body was moving at its own accord.
I lay down and he spread the gel across my scar and began to spread it with the ultrasound probe. He looked at the screen with so much curiosity and then he said “There! That is what I am looking at that seems unclear.” At this point I was ready to cry. The worst had come to mind.
“When did you have this surgery and when did this scar heal?” “December,” I replied
“I had the surgery in December and it healed in January but a section opened up during my therapy and finally healed three weeks ago.” I said with the anxiety in me increasing by the second.
“Okay, is this the region that recently healed?” he asked while pushing the probe on a specific spot.
“Yes it is.”
“Alright then, that is what I needed to clear up. The part that is showing seems just to be the scar tissue around the injury. It’s still healing inside so I’m glad to tell you that you are clear of cancer.”
Finally! The news I had waited for. The words I was desperate to hear for weeks. Suddenly my eyes flooded with tears and flowed down my cheeks as I blinked. They were tears of joy. Tears that washed the finally pains away.
I quickly composed myself and made my way to the radiology office to get a print out and the film of my scan and MRI.
As I drove home I felt the need to park and have a moment to myself. No one could understand the gravity of the results I held in my hand. No one asides God could understand the relief of such a health burden. I took that moment on the highway to pray to God and ask that he accept my thanks, prevent this from ever happening to me again and bless every single person who contributed to my healing; even if they contributed with just one social media message.
I sat there with a new found appreciation for life as cars passed by and people walked by minding their business. For the first time, I had hope. I could confidently make plans for the future and look beyond 2018. Finally I was happy again.
I decided to head out with some friends later that day who had found out about my good news from my social media post. It was a fun moment but I had a flood a messages pouring in from friends and well-wishers. I lost count of the numbers. Both far and wide I had people who cared enough to empathise and congratulate me.
The focus on my phone activity was broken by my friend, Kunle, who we all call K.bumper. Don’t ask why we call him that. We just always have.
“So many people congratulating you I’m sure.
“You’re definitely a celebrity today. You know you’re loved,” he said as he offered me a drink.
I laughed as I kept on sending out my replies but then, I took a moment to glance at all the messages I had replied to on all my social media platforms. I was overwhelmed.
I have always been a person to handle my problems alone but here I was recovering from an illness that I know social support played a major role in improving. A problem that seemed physical but was mainly mental. A problem that required a lot of money but the money didn’t guarantee an improvement.
We always have people tell us how our family members are the only ones who will always be there for us and how we should not and cannot ever rely on people who do not share the same blood as us because for the right price they will turn on you.
But in reality, we all have heard of people who turned on their own family for less than the right price. What if our horrible experiences are just to show us that we are actually blessed with love around us? It is something that money can’t buy.
I know I have learned in the last four months that I have friends, far and near, that I consider family. I knew that long before this experience but the deadly experience just served as a confirmation for me.
What if this was life telling me that as far as we do good God would always make sure we never feel alone? What if his way of expressing that was by ensuring we have an overwhelming number of strangers show genuine concern in times of difficulty? Would we deny that we sometimes can get more emotional support from strangers than family? Will that be wrong?
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