More Than One Woman's Struggle

"I need air", I told myself. Not that I had  been in a vacuum, the aristocratic and sophisticated-looking house I was in was more than ventilated. I just needed to get out and breathe.

The twins had just fallen asleep after I read them a bedtime story, Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. They kept asking questions like "Dad, when will mom be back?" "Will she come back for our birthday?" I set out.

 I pause, startled by the unexpected jingling of chains and the successive barking that followed. I glance towards the direction of the disturbance, it was the dog in the next compound performing its vigilante duties.

In this darkest hour before dawn, when most people are safely tucked in their beds, it was a startling and unwelcoming intrusion.

I resume my walking, becoming more aware of the tears streaming down my face.

How much I miss her! Her smiles, laughter, unexpected angry outbursts that made us scamper to safety and the way she ordered everybody around. She was nicknamed boss lady by the kids.

We met at a friend's party. I was discussing the happenings in the stock exchange market with a broker-friend of mine when I suddenly heard Tomi laugh. I couldn't help but look.

I saw this absolutely stunning woman in her late twenties. I was later told she was into Estate Management. She had this presence. I felt 'the' thrill...then and there, I knew she was the one.

The wedding ceremony was fabulous. Our joy knew no bounds when the twins arrived, Folakemi and Folagbade. The money was steady, life was good.

Until two and half years ago.....

On a sunday night after lecturing me on compromise, I agreed to watching her favourite show, Every Woman, instead of a football match. During the programme, she saw horrible pictures of breasts with cancer and learnt how to perform a self breast-examination.

A week later, after having her bath, she told me she felt a lump in her left breast. I laughed and told her she was it was her overactive imagination initiated by that episode of Every Woman. She agreed and laughed at my teasing.

Later that week, we went to visit her mom. Mama Tomi, as her mom was popularly called, was ecstatic on seeing her only child. "Omo mi, Ajike, Abeke, Agbeke, Asake", she called out Tomi's yoruba pet names, in her sing-song voice. After exchanging pleasantries with my mother-in-law, I was politely excused.

They went upstairs for another of their routine mother-daughter chat. I later found out she had told her mom about the lump she supposedly felt.

"Ok ma, we will be there on saturday. I'll take 'Kemi and 'Gbade to my friend, Busola's place... Yes... Amen ma ...ok ma... Thank you, mom. Have a nice day. Alright, I will", I heard Tomi say the next day as I stepped out of the shower.

She told me her mum said she had a feeling that the lump was not ordinary, but the work of the enemies. The same enemies that killed Tomi's father, and that she would take us somewhere. We agreed to it, mostly because Mama Tomi, wouldn't take no for an answer.

The journey to Baba Awogbemi's traditional home took us two hours out of town. His 'consulting room' was poorly-lit by traditional lamps, decorated with traditional mats, clothes and calabashes. Sitting in a corner of the room, was an evil-looking creature made from stone,  with feathers, cowries and pieces of cloth smeared with dried blood.  "Ologundudu oooo.... Alapa oooo." He shouted before reeling off incantations in Yoruba, thereafter, making noises that sounded more like shrieks and the howling of a wolf.

I remember glancing at my Swiss-made Fossil Chronograph watch , and thinking about leaving. I was outraged that I had to put up with all this because of a harmless lump, if it indeed existed.  He ended up telling us Mama Tomi had suspected; Tomi's father's enemies had decided she was next. We were given soaps for Tomi to take her bath with, and told to come back for a cream that would dissolve the lump.

During the next visit, we were given herbal mixtures, a protective bracelet and a cream that smelled like rotten egg. Tomi followed Baba Awogbemi's instructions religiously.

8 months later, we decided to check it out with the doctor. It had become bigger. Also, there was the bloody nipple discharge. I remember her worried face as she related the doctor's appointment, she should have gone earlier, immediately the lump was detected. She was to have a biopsy done to confirm if it was cancer.  

"The biopsy showed a cancerous growth, invasive ductal carcinoma."

"Cancer?!!" she shouted in the doctor's office, almost hysterical.

"Yes, Mrs. Odutola, you have breast cancer." the doctor replied.

I had been uneasy since the day before that the doctor had told me to come with my wife to see him about the result of the biopsy.

Other words were said: Surgery. Chemotherapy. Radiation.

It's funny how life doesn’t prepare you for situations like this. No lesson on facing trials and troubles can ever prepare you for the roller-coaster of emotions that will envelope you. I felt numb.

I'll never forget that I held her hand and said, "Together we'll be ok." I had desperately wanted to believe that.

Explaining to the children wasn't easy. How was I to tell our eight-year-olds that their mum was sick and possibly going to die?

Mama Tomi couldn't handle the news. She believed her enemies had caught up with her at last!

Tomi underwent the treatments, I was determined to give her the best, money was not an issue.

Bad news was that the cancer had spread to her lungs, later her organs were failing...

Her mother had a heart attack and passed away. Tomi had to be wheeled to her mother's burial, she could no longer walk.

It was hard watching her go through so much pain, grief and not being able to do something, anything to take it away.

Throughout our fight, we were showered with love from family and friends. We had joined a strong cancer support group at the beginning, in the quest to gather information.

She was strong, she fought, until she was tired. Too tired to fight and at last, it ended. She succumbed. She died.

Here I am, fours months after trying to be both Mom and Dad to the kids. I wish she left me a manual....

My experience has made me join the fight against breast cancer. It was my wife. It could be anybody, it's more than one woman's struggle...

 Modupeoluwa Omisore.

Medical student. Freelance Writer.

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