March, oh March

March, oh march!. There’s something about the month of March I need to intimate you with. I usually have terrible pain episodes this month. This kind of pain is so great I usually land in hospital. Then there’s that thing about March, in that God has always used it to change the priorities, focus and direction of my life.

 

Let me explain.

 

In 2007, after a series of personal conflict (aka identity crisis) surrounding self examination of what I want in life and what the Lord was leading me to do I decided in the month of March to choose Unilag as my university of first choice on the jamb form. My parents as expected were terrified. My friends and family rebuffed and rebuked the whole idea. But I was made up. The rest is history, but of all the decisions I have made in life, deciding to choose Unilag was one of the best.

 

March 7, 2015 is another case. One hell of a day. The day I finally made it to the A&E of ‘The UCH’. Have been hearing a lot of gist about the emergency ‘capabilities’ of ‘The UCH’, but nothing beats this personal experience. That’s one of the days I sincerely prayed to just die (and go and rest).

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My brother, do not at anytime pray to have pain. Real pain is not good even for your enemies. And like I do tell my doctors, pain is better imagined, you don’t wanna experience it. My pain on this day was so great nothing worked. The doctor-on-call who worked all sorts of ‘magic’ on me looked terrifically at me and gave up after exhausting on all other ideas.

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To cut the long story short, I landed in my usual WEST 3 ward. As if I just came back from the land of the dead I felt lost and drained of any form of energy. I woke up feeling irritable. Then I noticed him, my ward mate. Looking a little energized and sympathetic about this young fellow beside him. Nothing gives away that he’s sick except his mild paleness. I regained my self-awareness mojo, and I started relating with him

 

Now to the point of my story, the reason I am writing this blog post.

 

I felt the Lord leading me to preach the gospel of Christ to this my ward mate. I strongly felt I needed to show him the way of salvation. But I myself was weak, tired and afraid (because he talks and behaves like a hardliner and he’s also a Muslim). Hours rolled into days and as the days rolled by, I felt a strong sense to preach to him, to at least say something. The minute I get out of the hospital bed to go sit at his bedside and preach, one after the other, visitors troop in to come see him.

 

Right even in the midst of my pain-episodes, the day I finally summoned up the courage to do the needful, I realized he was on a blood transfusion. After the transfusion, he had a serious ‘shake-up’ that scared those of us around him. I should have taken that as a sign. But no I didn’t.

 

I kept telling myself I still had time to preach. Before I knew it, I was discharged and yet never said anything. So I resolved with a feeble attempt to dash back to the hospital a day after just to clear my conscience. I never did. Not until after a week. I went back to check him and the state I met him was far from pleasant. I tried telling him about Jesus Christ, but he was half conscious, half asleep. A very terrible sign, if you know UCH well.

 

I received a call from him thereafter and it encouraged me to go ahead and complete what I had started i.e to preach to him. You could then imagine my shock and utmost annoyance a day after when I paid him a visit and he was no more.

 

I screamed there and then in the ward. The nurses had nothing concrete to console me with. Even as I am writing this, I keep having this condemnation that I didn’t preach to this my ward mate. So whenever the month of March comes around, it is a silent reminder of my frailty and fault of the events of 2years ago. The month of March has thought me to do as I am lead. To be proactive to the things I desire in my heart to do, as there’s no time anywhere.

 

The month of March has been a tough lesson of pain, condemnation and survival. I have asked for God’s forgiveness concerning my negligence and have vowed not to make this repeat itself. I am writing this to encourage someone who might find themselves in my shoe someday soon. Please if you are lead to preach, you just go ahead and do so quickly. You never know if that will be the last you will see him/her.

 

….To be continued.

If this story really touched you, lets hear from you. Kindly fill the form below, we’d love to get a feedback from you. Regards.

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There’s a reason I love watching Medical series..you know the likes of Greys Anatomy, Code Black, Chicago Med, Bones to mention a few. But this why. I love to watch because not only does it relate so well to my daily experiences but also they all resonate with a loud message that humans are ‘frail organisms’.

The last episode of Chicago Med and Code Black I watched, I found out that even the ever-pleasant-always-hardworking-seemingly-not-in-pain-at-any-time-soon-everytime-smiling doctors are also in a lot of pain – in a lot of depression. This is what I mean, humans are always in a bid to mask something. A failure, a syndrome, a regret, a mistake, even a devious agenda. We always put the best feet forward, hoping we would be rewarded graciously.

Little surprise then when I learned about various research supporting that doctors and even officers of the security industry (those you think should have the heart of stone) are the most frequent patients for clinical psychologist and psychiatrist.

This made me ponder about my life. If you know me, you’d know I visit hospital alotttt. Not for anything, other than self preservation. Its not that am faithless. No. But I need medical help. So I get my acts together unashamedly and I go ahead to take the drugs, the injection, the advice, the diets even many times the ridicule and insults that comes with it (though the good looks from the pretty medical students are many times a ray of hope. A sign that God reigns).

I can’t tell you enough the magnitude of pain my eyes have seen and witnessed. Mehn, men are in pain. But we need not mask it!. We need help. Hello sir, hello ma, if you are in pain and chances are you do, please seek help. Pray. Cry and tell it to God, but seek help. See a physician, a psychologist, a psychiatrist. See a physiotherapist, a phlebotomist. See a surgeon, a dietitian/nutritionist.

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Go ahead vent out that mistake. Say all your weaknesses to him. Admit your faults. Release that false energy, giving you false sense of achievement. Sit your consultant down and tell him the whole story. Engage the nurses. Explain even if it means with trembling hands and sweating palms. Just say it.

Because as it has turned out many times in my case, the healing isn’t in the prescription, healthcare or medicine. The healing is in the ‘venting’. The healing is in the ability of frail individuals to rally round you and share their own story of shame and pain. The healing is in the giving of quick eviction notice to that false thought occupying your heart illegally. The healing is in shedding tears, and knowing fully well you gave depression a fight to the finish. Beloved, I beseech you greatly, get help. Don’t ever attempt to suck it in. Purge it out like a worm. Get help.

When We Try to Find Tears…

 

Hey there! Let me let you in on something. I have pain and am struggling. No, not that one you thinking. I mean I just endured a serious bone pain the last 23 hours. Just before typing this I had had to swallow painkillers for a raging stomach ache. My name is Lanre (let’s leave it short and simple), doctors says am a sickle cell patient and of late I’ve watched sick people die in front of me – 5 to be exact.

But what spur this post is about the sad news of the demise of a wardmate at UCH where I was admitted to in the month of March.

For a moment I was sent into a shock. He fought hard, his family fought hard, spared no expense. Prayed as if all depended on prayers, always by his bedside ready to encourage and make him laugh. I actually got jealous he had that kind of family. You think of it, they had and did it. I thought the nurses were joking until I called his mobile and the daughter confirmed it.

I couldn’t shake it off, the emotions were overpowering. It ushered in the kind of emotions I had when I first watched a friend of mine die in front of me at the UCH. I tried to find tears, but none came. How I got home, I don’t know. It dawn on me our time is limited. Actually it dawn on me, maybe, just maybe, my time is limited than I thought.

I am not the kind of person to write about my emotions. But courtesy of my psychologist I will be writing consistently about my pains, my persistent search for healing, the endurance process and my hope in Christ who is able to save and renew.

Please find time and find it thoughtful to read, meditate, share and encourage others who might need this kind of momentum for healing and personal growth.

I asked God to give me a theme for this new purpose and He gave me the word ‘BraveArdor’.

When We Try to Find Tears…

 

Hey there! Let me let you in on something. I have pain and am struggling. No, not that one you thinking. I mean I just endured a serious bone pain the last 23 hours. Just before typing this I had had to swallow painkillers for a raging stomach ache. My name is Lanre (let’s leave it short and simple), doctors says am a sickle cell patient and of late I’ve watched sick people die in front of me – 5 to be exact.

But what spur this post is about the sad news of the demise of a wardmate at UCH where I was admitted to in the month of March.

For a moment I was sent into a shock. He fought hard, his family fought hard, spared no expense. Prayed as if all depended on prayers, always by his bedside ready to encourage and make him laugh. I actually got jealous he had that kind of family. You think of it, they had and did it. I thought the nurses were joking until I called his mobile and the daughter confirmed it.

I couldn’t shake it off, the emotions were overpowering. It ushered in the kind of emotions I had when I first watched a friend of mine die in front of me at the UCH. I tried to find tears, but none came. How I got home, I don’t know. It dawn on me our time is limited. Actually it dawn on me, maybe, just maybe, my time is limited than I thought.

I am not the kind of person to write about my emotions. But courtesy of my psychologist I will be writing consistently about my pains, my persistent search for healing, the endurance process and my hope in Christ who is able to save and renew.

Please find time and find it thoughtful to read, meditate, share and encourage others who might need this kind of momentum for healing and personal growth.

I asked God to give me a theme for this new purpose and He gave me the word ‘BraveArdor’.