It was already the 10th pint of blood she had taken, and it was only 2 pm. The doctor said she would need 10 more pints to survive the rest of the day. For every passing day, the pints of blood seemed to keep increasing while her face grew paler by the minute; if she was not solely of African descent, she could pass for Dracula. I mostly kept my eyes on the drip as if to eject all the blood quickly into her body so she could come home like she did the night before. It would be a few days until Christmas, and I wanted her to unbox her presents whilst she hyped me like last year’s Boxing Day as she unwrapped her luscious lace fabric.
“Omalicha’m, Ego Oyibo, Akwa Ugo, Ola’m, you’re your father’s real daughter ko, Adannaya, you’re doing well…” she said, bursting into a fit of cough; she held my shoulders tightly with her left hand as she struggled to hold back her cough as she spoke. Gesticulating for me to stroke her back to relieve her of what I guessed was more than just the cough. When she was better stabilized, she almost said in a whisper –
“Onwu amaghi eze; o na egbu onye ukwu, o na egbu onye nta — death does not recognize a king; it kills both the mighty and the low. Biko, Ada’m, I want you to know that death is inevitable for everyone, but it does not have to be the end for everyone, Ada’m, it is mostly not the end. Nobody can escape it, but even if death has its power, our ahu — body — death has no power over our soul because we are living by Amara gi — the grace of God I ghotara– (do you understand) na wetin we dey take survive to be that, because God don save us completely, e get where I dey go after death don show me woto woto.”
“Nne’m, please don’t talk like this. Nkechi is still very young, and I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Death isn’t taking you anywhere Nne’m, you will live long to see your grandchildren you always pressurize me about. Nne’m you know this life has thrown you many lemons, and you are a fighter regardless. So fight to stay biko,”
“Hmm, Ada, all I have told you, remember how … coughs — pfft pfft pfft pfft, ahem.”
“You need to rest now; everything will be fine”, I said, slowly rubbing her back as I hoped it did soothe the wheeziness of her breath.
Nkechi had slapped me softly in an attempt to play and then ran back to Father; she had brought my wandering eyes back to the private ward and awakened me from my deep thoughts; it was already forty minutes since Mum fell asleep. As I scanned the area and settled my eyes on Mum, every breath was as though she breathed her last, making my heart rise with her chest. My source of comfort was the electrocardiogram slowly beeping to the beats of her heart as its wires plunged into her chest.
I didn’t know how best to pray to God anymore; even if Father did say all is well at every passing speech, it sounded more like a wish upon an empty well; all was not well even after touring the many prayer mountains of Abeokuta, mum still had an undiagnosed illness, I mostly feared that the doctors used her as their lab rat to find the unknown from their dysfunctional machines, I was angry at God too because it was the second year and he still had not given me what I wanted the most after asking in tears, faith and patience.
I had sat long enough to frustrate my yarning bladder, so I left the ward, calculating how to measure the disgust from the toilet. I had finally found the one that would give me a lesser nightmare; it didn’t take up to three minutes to wrap up my business as I made my way back to the ward, I saw in passing the nurses wheel out the gurney, it carried someone covered from head to ankles, whilst a tag dangled from the left toe, it read estimated death time — 4:05 pm on the 18th of January, 2012.
“This would be the fourth patient heading to the morgue today”, I said, impulsively shaking my head in empathy for their loved ones.
I was some distance away from Mum’s ward when I heard screams that sounded like Papa’s; as I rushed in, I found him bent on the ground, screaming in profound no(s) as the doctors tried to cajole him to sign the death certificate. I had been standing in a state of shock, wondering if the time I had spent in the toilet was too fast or if I was in the future and needed to go back in time. In my wonderment, I fell, eagerly pushing myself to the ground, wishing It was the only place that could accommodate my anguish; slowly, I had begun to scream till my throat ran dry and my voice hoarse in grief whilst nurses rushed in, shielding me from myself.
I would later get a letter from the nurse addressed to me by Nne’m; the words were written in faint ink and seemed almost invisible as if its writer was too scared to let the words be. It read –
Ada Obi, I know you’re angry I left in such a hurry; I know you’re angry with God, too. I saw the way you read your Bible beside me. I saw the pages are soaked and squeezed, but Ada Obi, God did not give me this sickness; you know he has always been good to us; he has also given me a better option, and it is by Amara gi. It is not the end, Ada’m; I will always love you, my Nkem.
Your Nne’m.
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