You Made Me Live

Oh! you make me live!

(From the song ‘You’re My Best Friend’ by Queen) https://youtu.be/HaZpZQG2z10

4 Diseases Women Often Overlook

This is the most difficult challenge I’ve had to face in my years of existence. How do you begin to write about the untimely death of a dearly beloved younger brother, a confidant, a friend, a loyal sibling, who was God-fearing, loving, generous, shy, hardworking and resilient? Someone called me the other day and described him as my ‘right-hand man’. Ade was actually more than my right-hand man. He was always there for me through the good and bad days; my high and low periods. Or, is it his dependability and confidentiality that you want to extol? You could call him at any time of day or night and he will be there. If you confided in him, the secret went no further.

Even writing about it is just the beginning. I want to share with you so together we can comfort and lift each other up. Hearing about the death of someone you don’t know may elicit a pitiful pat from you, an “Oh, sorry-o. May his soul rest in peace,” and that ends the chapter. But it is a different ball game when the tragedy happens closer home.

My brother and I had always been close from childhood. He fondly called me ‘Sister Mi’. A civil engineer by profession, he was very energetic, enthusiastic and a perfectionist. When we had the opportunity to travel to Lagos Island, he would point at different houses with one remark or the other.

‘Wow, look at the perfect edges of that edifice’ or ‘My God, that beam looks bent,’ and so on. He was in the habit of making several visits to Victoria Island, Lagos, just to admire architectural designs. Ade was passionate about engineering and he was elated when people expressed high opinions of his constructions. He was popular with his small clique of friends and endeared to his numerous workers. He hated to see people suffer and cheated. He was highly respectful and humble. Hence, he found it difficult to tolerate insolence from his juniors. A family man who loved his children more than himself, whenever I had the opportunity to travel abroad and ask what I could get for his family, his reply was: ‘Sister Mi, so long as you buy clothes for my wife and children, I am satisfied. Don’t stress yourself looking for what to buy for me.’

Being well educated, he was naturally devoted to his children’s education.

‘It will delight me if one of my sons becomes a medical doctor.  The art of medical science is something I wish I had the knack for,’ he would often tell me.

My neighbours knew him quite well, as he regularly woke me up in the morning with his usual question from people living in the house: ‘Is sister Mi still upstairs?’

If this question didn’t do the trick of waking me, then, of course, his loud conversation on the phone, talking with his contractors and workers would. Whenever I asked why he made so much noise, he would say, ‘Sister Mi, I’m always on the site and it is a noisy place. So I have to shout over the noise of cement mixing, drilling or workers squabbling.’

The bottom line is it was a pure delight to have my brother around always. A good arbitrator in disputes, he had the gift to calm down volatile situations, and his great sense of humour was unique. Sometimes it was difficult to separate his jokes from serious comments. When in one of his humorous moods, he would throw a joke and look so serious you almost believed his tale. It was only when you gave him a second glance and saw a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, or a twinkle that you laughed and asked: ‘Ade, why can’t you be serious for once?’

He would chuckle and walk away, leaving you to have a belly ache from laughing so much at his banter. Ade really made me live.

Never mind this jovial exterior, Ade was shy, sensitive, and emotional but kept it bottled up.  If you did not know him very well, you could mistake his shyness for aloofness, sometimes arrogance. His kindness and generosity were often taken for granted by his associates and family members.

‘Ade, do this for me, do that.’

‘Ade, I need fees for my children.’

‘Ade, I don’t have food to eat.’

‘Ade, give me a job.’

So many demands, which he tried to meet; unfortunately it is impossible to please everyone.

Despite the strenuous demands of construction work, Ade was up to the task.  Depending on the type of job he was managing, and how urgent the completion was, there might be a need to wake up as early as 4:00 am or sleep many days on the construction site. On other days he might stay up till late working on figures. He spent hours in the scorching sun and often complained of tiredness and heat exhaustion. Apart from these minor ailments, he was as fit as a fiddle but for the constant malaria attacks, which were so frequent we had come to see the illness as part of him. He took medication for malaria as often and quickly as you can say “Jack”. 

We attributed his regular complaint of tiredness and weakness to the physically demanding nature of his job and lack of proper sleep, while his feverishness was blamed on working long periods under the blazing sun. But a medical check-up showed a tiny hole in his heart and his blood pressure was on the high side. His doctor gave him medication for his heart while his BP was monitored regularly. It was during this time that my brother became a lover of garlic and traditional herbs. He would chew a whole bulb of garlic raw at every opportunity. He drank bottles of the herbal concoction of leaves, roots, and whatever ingredient he was told would give him strength, lower his BP, suppress malaria attacks, and give him overall wellness.

Ade was not a fitness enthusiast. Apart from his work, any other act of physical activity was frowned upon. His nutrition was another problem. He loved white sweet bread, butter, fried stew, fried plantain, vegetable stew, and roadside food. He was always on the road touring villages so most times he had to make do with whatever was available. He would not touch salad or anything foreign and unusual. His favourite line was, ‘Sister Mi, that one is for you. I don’t want to spend the whole day in the toilet.’

With the diagnosis of his heart and the high BP, he had no choice but to review his lifestyle.

Things moved on satisfactorily until hepatitis was diagnosed. It was an accidental discovery when blood donation was needed during the birth of his second child, and the procedure required a blood test. Hepatitis B came into the picture. How come, we all asked? But the immediate reaction was to see a doctor for advice.  I did a lot of research on the disease, to enrich my knowledge, and went on to write briefly about the illness in my health and fitness publication. The hepatitis condition needed constant observation and checks but, somehow we relaxed, allowing the liver functions to gradually deteriorate until ‘something’ triggered the last fatal illness. Naively, I had thought, okay, it is an illness that would run its phase if one follows the “dos and don’ts” of hepatitis. But the major question was, ‘did we actually abide by the rules?’

Although Ade did not smoke, drink alcohol, or take narcotic drugs, doctors made us realise that some of the herbal concoctions taken by my brother could be fatal to the liver because they contain 25% or more alcohol.

One morning, he came to my house. His eyes were sunset yellow.

He said, ‘Sister Mi, I can’t get over this tiredness. It’s taking over. I have been treated for malaria, but still can’t shake off this chronic fatigue.’

I said, ‘My dear brother, first of all, your diet is crap, you don’t exercise, you drink all these herbs, you don’t take supplements to augment your vitamins daily requirement, and you fret too much and don’t give yourself any peace of mind. You worry about this and that. You must count your blessings and thank God for your success. You are hardworking and definitely bound to reap the fruits of your work, but that is only if you slow down and relax more.’

‘Okay, what do you think I should do?’

‘Change your lifestyle, of course. Eat better food; get out of the habit of eating roadside fast food with too much MSG and sodium. Eat natural foods, fruits and lots of vegetables, and drink plenty of water. You take too many sugary soft drinks. That is rubbish. And you just never exercise. Why? Again, lest I forget, these herbal mixtures are poison to the liver, so throw them out. In addition, you could do with Vitabiotics Wellman vitamin supplements, and some calcium to relieve those muscle spasms you get.’

‘I’ve heard,’ he said calmly.

That was the thing about my brother. He was always calm, no matter how angry you were. He remained composed and would not say much till you finished. He was not in the habit of exchanging words with his older siblings, which was one of the qualities I loved about him.

He promised a changed lifestyle and went home that day. I refused to link the yellowness of the eyes and chronic fatigue to anything deadly. I hoped and prayed that with some rest the tiredness will pass.  

Unfortunately, a couple of days later he was taken to the hospital by his wife and admitted. I was beginning to get worried, but, again, in my heart, I called upon God that it should be nothing worse than a bout of typhoid. I put a call through to the wife.

‘What is the diagnosis?’ I asked.

‘Jaundice,’ she said. 

I suppressed the panic in my voice because I knew that jaundice is a symptom of hepatitis. I went to the hospital as quickly as I could and told the doctor, ‘Give me the details. Don’t spare anything.’

‘It is hepatitis B replicating and affecting the functions of the liver. Bilirubin toxin is building up in the system and the liver is slow in flushing it out and responsible for the yellowness of the eyes.’ the doctor said.

I asked many questions, wanted options, and desired to know the truth. Several tests were done. In the meantime, my brother was on intravenous drips around the clock to give him energy. He was in this hospital for six days without getting better. Instead, he was getting weaker and weaker. He could hardly keep any food down, so we fed him light and bland food like corn gruel with glucose.

On Monday, Ade was taken to Ibadan University College Hospital in the early evening, and wheel-chaired to the private suites. I felt happier because it was a more conducive environment with competent nurses and doctors. By the time we took him there, he could hardly walk, so we had to push him from the hospital reception to his room, in a wheelchair. The consultant took his case notes but had to start new tests and repeat some. He advised the Echo test and CT scan to check the state of his internal organs. . More blood samples were taken for glucose level and Bilirubin. BP, pulse rate and body temperature were taken frequently, medication given for the liver, and medicines to suppress vomiting because he was throwing up almost everything including medication. Treatment became reactive to new symptoms – for instance, medication to bring down BP, slow down pulse rate or reduce temperature and so on.

My brother was weak but in better spirits. He ate two small packets of crackers, which really made me happy. 

Our friends and family from all over the world prayed for God’s healing and intervention, our faith unshaken in the power of prayers’ ability to transcend any physical and geographical barriers. Like any loving woman, my mother was very apprehensive about her son’s admission to a hospital, but we reassured her that he would be fine. In order to convince her that Ade was alright, we drove her to the hospital. My brother was happy to see her. They had always been very close, more than any of us. There was this strong bond between them, a special love; respect.

Ade saw the concern in my mother’s eyes and said, ‘Mami, don’t worry.  I am fine.’

We all felt relieved and left him with hope in our hearts. He was placed on a special diet and later that night he ate food prepared by the hospital. I was optimistic.

On Tuesday, Ade continued his medication and tried to keep his strength up. Occasionally tears would flow from his eyes with depressive far away looks. As good as he always was, he remained very polite to the doctors and nurses. It was a very stressful day for all of us but with high optimism. The day went by without any incident. His appetite was satisfactory and I was a bit relieved.

Later in the day, my brother was due for a CT scan to provide more information related to any injury and/or diseases of his liver. I got a call to say he was being taken for the scan. I acknowledged and drove to the hospital. I spoke with the consultant who assured me of improvement in Ade’s health.

‘Great, and thank God,’ I said. That was in the afternoon. To my surprise, not quite thirty minutes after discussing with the consultant, my brother was wheeled back to his room, head bowed, with vomit all over his clothes which the nurses were trying to clean up. ‘What happened?’ I asked. No one could give me clear answers. The responses I got were assumptions, and nothing befitting health professionals. There was nothing direct and exact and straight to the point.

‘It could be the heat in the lift made him dizzy.’

‘Maybe his body could not take the stress of the CT scan.’

All were mere speculations and guesses.

‘Ade, are you alright? What is the matter? Are you okay? Can you talk?’

No reply to any of my questions. He remained with his head bowed and that really broke my heart.

‘My God, what is happening?’

I asked for the consultant again, smoking steam, I assaulted him with thousands of questions. As usual, his answers were unhelpful. At the end of the day, my brother was just pumped with more medication to stabilize him, more glucose for energy, and more drips to flush out the toxins.

We got the result of the Bilirubin level, about 28, almost at a level enough to put him in a coma. I realised my brother was slowly slipping away. But somehow with prayers and more medication, he was able to shake it off. That day, I decided to stay with him in the hospital. The thought of leaving him in that condition was unbearable. It was the beginning of an experience I would never forget. My brother could not eat anymore. He threw up any food, no matter how little. Swallowing his medication was a struggle. Yet still, I remained optimistic.

On Wednesday, Ade’s condition improved slightly in the morning. He drank some corn gruel. He managed to respond to our conversation feebly and slept mostly throughout the day. In the evening he became very, very restless. He continued to turn, roll to the right and left, staring into space, hardly acknowledging my presence. His restlessness I put it down to the fact that he slept a lot during the day, although I still asked the matron for her opinion. The matron said restlessness is common with hepatitis patients, so we should not worry too much about it. That was comforting, as he was still able to respond to his name, from me or the doctors or nurses slowly, weakly. God kept us through the night. I was still optimistic.

On Thursday, we received the result of the CT scan which revealed no scarring, shrinking or enlargement of the liver. Thank God. Other blood and urine tests showed kidneys were OK, heart OK, and not diabetic. His urine slightly improved from rusty brown to sunset yellow, and yellowness in both eyes also improved, while the yellowness of the sole of the foot disappeared. We all breathed a sigh of relief and continued to have faith in our Lord Jesus Christ for healing and speedy recovery. Coming from a spiritual family, prayers were in abundance. I called my brother Ade, once, twice, and he answered at the third mention of his name.

‘Sister Mi,’ he said feebly.

I was over the moon.  I quickly took his head in my hands and hugged it to my chest. I told him over and over again how much we love him. I spoke about his children and wife waiting for him anxiously to get out of the hospital and on his feet again. I kept on rocking him.

Finally, he said, ‘Sister Mi, thank you.’

Those were his last words to me.

By early evening, the restlessness worsened and he started to groan as if in pain. His words were incoherent. He could not control his bladder and even with all the sighs and grunts of discomfort, I refused to panic. The consultant was notified again. He declined to give him any medication to calm his restlessness but gave him other medication to stop his vomiting, an analgesic for pain and more glucose. Together with the nurses, we continued to change his position several times to make him comfortable, while closely watching his every move. He hardly slept that night. He just stared into space till morning. But I remained optimistic.

The next day, Friday, I entered his room at about 7:00 am to see him staring into space and his legs very restless as if he was trying to kick something. I drew him close and put his head on my chest. Told him we all love him and that his test results were encouraging and all he needed to do now was recover. I told him not to cry or be depressed as he would not die but live to declare the glory of God. He simply stared into space.

At about 9:30 am, I was no longer at ease with his inability to talk or recognise things around him. I drew the attention of the matron on duty who at once conducted BP, pulse rate and temperature tests. All three indicators had risen to fatal levels. Although intravenous medications were applied quickly to arrest an unhealthy situation, my brother went into a coma. He was put on Mannitol.

Have you ever had a loved one – and I mean cherished, loved and adored – go into a coma? That is the only way you can feel with me. I ran to the doctor.

‘Excuse me I can’t leave my brother like this. You just have to arrange for him to go into the intensive care unit,’ I told the consultant, who agreed with me initially.

However, the tune soon changed when he tried to get my brother into ICU without success. According to the consultant, ‘He (Ade) does not require a machine to breathe, so we can’t take him there. There is no section for hepatitis at the ICU.’

‘Can’t you cordon a section off to allow round-the-clock nursing?’ I asked with desperation in my plea.

‘There is no process for creating a division for hepatitis patients,’ he replied.

‘But one patient will start it surely, and you have to start sometime.’  In my mind, I thought, If it was a Minister’s son, you will bend the rules.

Instead of taking us to the ICU, two different consultants came from that unit to examine my brother, wrote whatever they needed to write, and got their fees and nothing came out of their visits. I was beginning to get angry and bitter. My mother came that evening with members of her church to pray for my brother. My heart bled when I saw my mother. She had aged ten years in the last two weeks. The sorrow and pain of a mother, I said to myself. She requested that we shift my brother to the church. My mother’s view was that at least if my brother died in church, then she would accept her fate. We all discouraged this move for two reasons: First, Ade was already in a coma with drips, mouth guard, and feeding tubes all over the place. Second, our faith in the power of prayer, to make nonsense of distance, was very much intact. My sister,  a Pastor, who was keeping vigil for Ade at the Redeem camp, called and strengthened our faith, and so did my elder brother who promised to come to Lagos.

Friday was a very traumatic and sorrowful day. I was tired and rested my head on the bed, but startled by a noise from my brother. He yawned! At least I hoped that was a yawn which means his senses were coming back.

I phoned the consultant. ‘Know what? My brother just yawned.  I mean he yawned.  That is good. Isn’t it?’ I asked excitedly.

‘Was there a gasp?’ the consultant wanted to know.

‘No gasp. It was just a yawn. Is that good or bad?’ I asked again.

‘It is good,’ he replied.

Looking back now, my guess is that he must have told me that to get me off his back. My optimism remained unshaken.

On Saturday, the sixth day, Ade was still in a coma. He had to be given his meals and medications, and the only option was to inject them, through tubes inserted through his nose, down to his stomach. The content of his stomach was then ‘vacuumed’, before introducing fresh corn gruel and glucose along with medication. By this time, no yawns, no movement, his eyes half shut with tear-like water dripping from the corner of his eye, which left a yellow stain on the tissue when wiped off. I sat beside him on the bed to recite Psalms from the Bible and to talk, even though I was not getting any response. I kept at it because I read somewhere that people in a coma hear when you speak to them.

His breathing was sometimes a bit belaboured, sort of like gasping. When I expressed my concern, I was told the air is trying to escape, and this is expected from patients who are being fed through the nose. Okay, I said, let’s just keep a close watch. I continued to tell Ade a lot of positive things; happy thoughts, and memories – anything that came to my mind. My sister and her husband came in the morning, from the Redeem camp. Both of them went into prayer sessions. An anointed white handkerchief was placed on his liver along with prayers and more prayers for a miraculous recovery. Even at this time, death was the last thing on my mind. My thoughts revolved around the supposition that the illness was a phase and would just run its course. Ade would get better and thereafter I would help him to abide by the rules of managing hepatitis.

My mother came to visit again. She looked very worried and broken. She prayed with the passion and emotions of a mother asking God for mercy. At the end of it, she left Ade saying a sort of ‘final goodbye’ to my brother. She said, ‘Well, my son, I am leaving you in the care and bosom of God. Please come back to us.  Remember your children,’ she said with tears and a shaky voice. I watched as she walked away, her body bent and she staggered a little from emotional distress.

My elder brother arrived from Abuja. Like Ade, he was always calm and composed. He went straight to the consultant for briefing, thereafter went into powerful prayer, unceasing.

At about 9:00 pm or so, Ade’s breathing became irregular and somehow more difficult. I called the attention of the consultant who advised oxygen to ease his breathing. The doctor saw the worry on our faces and assured us that it is only to aid breathing and not a sign of the ‘last moments’ as people tend to think. The sight of this huge cylinder was off-putting and worsened my anxiety. I just ignored it and asked them to get on with it. After a little fumbling with the oxygen cylinder, my brother was put on it. True to the doctor’s words it regulated his breathing. I remained optimistic

At about 10:00 pm, his pulse became stronger and his breathing calmer than pre-oxygen. Okay, so far so good, we continued watching for hours until the tube fell out of his nose accidentally. We all panicked, thinking my brother will just stop breathing. But by some means, he continued breathing, and normally for about one hour. We were excited that we did not need any oxygen.

The relief lasted briefly as Ade relapsed into gasps as if there was a blockage in the nose, mouth and throat. Again, the oxygen was brought in. This was at about 1:00 am on Sunday morning, the seventh day. 

I waited long enough to see his breathing normalise, and then excused myself to rest my head for a couple of hours, leaving a close relative and my elder brother to keep vigil. They both continued praying. Although I was not too comfortable about leaving, my body needed to lie down. In any case, it was difficult keeping my eyes open.

There was a knock on my door. No one has ever knocked on my door before except it was serious. I looked at the time: 3:00 am. I jumped up, panicking.

‘What is the matter?’

‘Sister, please come. The doctors are pressing Ade’s chest.’

I ran into Ade’s room to see the night-shift doctor massaging his heart with the base of her two hands. I did not have to ask any questions. I just stood there. My elder brother was not deterred and continued praying in the language of the Holy Spirit. I stood there perplexed.

I called the consultant at 3:30 am. 

‘Please come, my brother is not comfortable anymore.’

He must have felt the urgency and sadness in my voice. He asked to speak to the doctor on duty. He inquired about my brother’s condition and instructed an adrenalin injection to jumpstart his heart. Thereafter he assured me he was on his way.  The consultant arrived in fifteen minutes, which seemed like fifteen hours. I was watching life slip away from my dearly loved brother. His breathing was now irregular, and paced, accompanied by a heavy rise of the chest. I stood helpless, but still hoped for a reversal. I looked at the faces of the doctor and the matron – serious and forlorn.

I didn’t let the consultant settle before I fired the first question.

‘What the heck is happening here?’

He led my elder brother and me outside the room. He went on to explain.  I really was not listening but I caught words like “liver transplant”. I wanted to scream.  What is this consultant talking about? My brother is dying and he is talking about a liver transplant. At what time? How is this possible in the middle of the night, in a place like Nigeria? Are you kidding me? Is this doctor out of his mind? What rubbish is this? I thought all these things in my head but did not utter a word, because if I did, I would probably say some things I would regret.

My elder brother asked the only question that I want to ask but was afraid to hear the answer.

‘Tell us as it is. What are our chances?’

‘The situation is bad. He does not have much time.’

‘How much time have we got?’

‘His breathing is slow and irregular. His eyes dilated with no life in them. Even if he recovers, his brain is dead, and he has one hour left at the most,’ the consultant said, hardly able to meet my eyes.

That was about 4:00 am. I just stood there like a zombie.  I felt like tearing the consultant, doctor, and matron apart with my bare hands.  I was enraged and my elder brother could see it.  He put his arms around me and said:

‘It’s alright. The doctor has said his own. God is the ultimate controller of our fate. We don’t give up.’

He turned to thank the consultant, doctor and nurses. I did not join him to thank anybody. Thank them for what? Instead, I wanted to curse them for allowing my brother to die.  After all, they gave me hope: ‘He will be alright.’ ‘His liver is okay.’ ‘He is not diabetic.’ ‘His kidneys function well.’ ‘He is getting better.’ All rubbish talk.

Why don’t doctors always tell you the truth – the whole truth, your chances? So they tried their best. But was their best good enough? How do they expect us to start to think about liver transplants at 4:00 am in a country where such a procedure does not even exist? My God! I was full of hate and livid at that moment.

I went to my brother on his bed, looking at him; lifeless, struggling with his breathing and with tears rolling down my eyes. My elder brother did not stop praying. I called my sister and told her the situation.

‘Place the anointed handkerchief on his chest,’ she instructed. I did. His breathing did not improve. My sister later told me at that point, her prayer point changed to mercy from God for Ade – to allow my brother to see his face. I watched life slowly go out from my brother. I laid my head on his chest, placed my right hand on his heart and hugged him as he jerked for his last breath. He was still. I phoned to tell my sister the sad news.

‘We give God the glory,’ was her reply, which actually gave me strength and inner peace.

The doctor confirmed him dead at 5:20 am on Sunday morning – the day of our church’s harvest. As Christians, we believe God gives and takes. Who can question God? Why ask why? We give glory to God. In our hearts, Ade lives forever. Indeed, my darling brother Ade, You made me live!

https://www.amazon.ca/Waving-Wind-Real-Life-Stories-ebook/dp/B00I5VQ18G

https://www.webmd.com/hepatitis/digestive-diseases-hepatitis-b

Photo Credit: Creative Commons