The door to the consulting room opened behind me, giving off a slightly but seemingly accentuated creak sound as Dr. Akin's steady steps neared me.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mrs. Lawson. My apologies." Dr. Akin said in his usual baritone as he made himself comfortable in his chair, directly opposite me, separated by his consulting table, a few equipment like a sphygmomanometer, and a few others I could only recognize from past images.
"It's fine, sir. What about my results?" I replied, finding it hard to curtail my anxiety.
"Mrs. Lawson." Dr. Akin began before taking a pause and looking at the result in his hand as though he needed to confirm something in it. "I'm afraid your mammogram result isn't looking encouraging." He continued, speaking in as much of a calm and empathetic voice as he could muster. You have stage two breast cancer that needs urgent intervention.
Dr. Akin's words hit me like multiple gunshots, eroding my sanity. A wave of shock spiraled through my spine, my world spinning right in my head as I sat, facing the doctor, looking blank and only hearing from afar my name being juggled to reality.
"I know this must be hard for you, but all hope is not lost. We have recorded some successes in the management of cases like this, most especially when interventions are instituted early." Dr. Akin said, continued.
I remained mute as the doctor continued to allay my fears. My thoughts wandered far away into oblivion and finally settled with my only child and daughter, Agnes, who was in her final class of accounting in college. She alone had been my friend and partner since I lost my husband eighteen years back from a tragic accident, with my only consolation in Agnes. 'Poor Agnes, how would she cope as an orphan?' I thought to myself, a teardrop falling visibly from my face. "How much time do I have left, Dr. Akin?" I summoned the courage to ask. I knew cancer patients barely survived beyond five years, especially in developing countries like Nigeria, where the resources for proper care are either limited or the prognosis is just poor.
"Hmmm... Mrs. Lawson, I'm afraid I can't answer this, but one thing I'm certain of is that your zeal to live through this phase is more important than the ailment itself. If you can give it all you have, we will win this battle eventually." Dr. Akin said reassuringly. He went further to discuss the treatment options, taking his time to share experiences and possible physical, emotional, and financial implications.
Dr. Akin's words were a bit relieving, even though momentarily, but I made up my mind to fight the cancer with all my strength and available resources, especially because I did not want Agnes, my daughter, to live as an orphan. "Thank you, Dr. Akin; how soon can I commence treatment?" I blurted out in determination.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Lawson? Do you need time to think this through?" Dr. Akin asked.
"I am going to live for my daughter, Dr. Akin, and I'll give all it takes!" I replied affirmatively.
"Good then; I'll have to run a few investigations on you before commencing therapy just to have baseline results. Once the results are ready, say in 48 hours, we can have our first dose of chemotherapy. I'll also recommend a support group for you if you don't mind?"
"No, I don't mind, doctor. I'm willing to go through with all your recommendations, sir. Thank you for your encouraging words." I said, standing up.
"Let's head to the laboratory section then." Dr. Akin said, leading the way.
It's been seven years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I have had a series of chemotherapies and other interventions. I informed Agnes, and after four years, and after many sobs, she has been supporting me with all she could muster, giving me more reasons to live. The support groups were very helpful, and Dr. Akin has been a call away, swift to attend to my concerns.
