Ajoke felt lightheaded, and at that moment, she collapsed onto the floor. The next thing she remembered was waking up in an unfamiliar place. She looked around and realized she was in a hospital bed, with her sister, Agbeke, sitting beside her and holding her hand.

“You fainted at work. An ambulance brought you here, and I was called as your next of kin,” Agbeke explained. “Oh my gosh, I fainted? What does that mean for my medical history? When I fill out a form, I’ll have to tick ‘yes’ when asked if I’ve ever fainted.” “Ajoke, this is not the time to make light of things,” Agbeke said seriously.

“What’s wrong with me?” I managed to mutter. “Now that you’re awake, the specialist will come to address us. They’ve been waiting for you to regain consciousness,” she replied.

A nurse walked in with a smile on her face. She checked my vitals and informed me that the doctor would be with us soon. My mind raced with questions. What could be wrong with me? I know I’m not pregnant; my period has been regular for the past two months, and I’ve been careful. What could be wrong?

My racing thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. A young, good-looking man wearing glasses walked in. I wouldn’t have guessed he was the doctor if he hadn’t been wearing a medical coat. He approached me and began to speak, but all I could focus on were his perfect teeth and how good we would look together in a photo. He introduced himself as Dr. Omotola Olashori but suggested I could call him Dr. T. He said several things, but I barely paid attention, only catching snippets like “growth, cyst, surgery, and next Tuesday.” After a few more minutes, he left.

Agbeke turned to me and asked, “Ajoke, did you hear what the doctor said?” I stared at her, and she repeated a summary of my diagnosis and treatment. “You fainted because you have a life-threatening cyst that needs to be operated on next Tuesday. It could have been done sooner, but he’s not available before then. You’ll be in the hospital until then, and you have to follow a strict dietary guideline to ensure you’re ready for the surgery. The doctor is off on weekends unless there’s an emergency, so he won’t be back until Monday. You’re free to move around, but you can’t leave the hospital. He also said we should be grateful it’s still operable.”

I let out a loud sigh, and felt water on my chin. I hadn’t even realised I was crying. How can I have a cyst? When did it develop? How long has it been growing? I did a scan last year, and everything was fine. I don’t want to have cancer. Why is this happening to me? 

Agbeke told me she had informed the rest of our siblings about what was going on and then handed me my phone. I saw I had thirty-five missed calls and numerous WhatsApp messages, especially from the family group. I didn’t know where to start, so I put the phone down. She announced she was going home since she had been with me since yesterday. Yesterday was Friday, and I had been at work. Wait, do my colleagues know what’s going on? I checked my phone and saw messages from colleagues, too. It was overwhelming, and the last thing I needed was a pity party.

My sister left, promising to return the next day with a change of clothes and a meal. She wouldn’t leave until I promised to get some rest, pray, and not overthink things.

It was 3:00 pm on a Saturday, and I was trapped behind the walls of a hospital. At least I had my work laptop with me; maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I opened my computer, and immediately, a flood of emails regarding my fainting incident filled my inbox. I quickly closed it and decided to take a walk. I had seen people walking around with their IV drips in movies—this couldn’t be so bad.

I climbed out of bed and glanced in the mirror. I muttered “Oh, Ajoke Anifowoshe, you’ve been through it!”.

I opened the door slowly and stepped out. I walked down the corridor, searching for a view of the outside world. After a few turns, I noticed a nurse watching me briefly before he approached me to ask if I needed anything. I told him I was looking for a view, and he informed me I needed to go to the eleventh floor.

“What floor are we on?” I asked. “The fourth floor,” he answered. “Oh wow,” I replied. “Do you need any help?” he inquired. “No, I’m fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure it made sense to seek a view anymore. Nevertheless, I walked to the elevator and felt relieved to find it empty when it opened for me.

Upon reaching the eleventh floor, I found it quiet—a little slice of peace. I walked to a window and sat down to take in the view. After a while, I checked my phone again and replied briefly to everyone: “Thank you for checking in. I’m okay.” I sat there for about an hour before heading back downstairs. Dinner was waiting for me, although it didn’t seem appetizing at all. I ate what I could and attempted to sleep.

I woke up the following day, confused about where I was. Then, it hit me—I was in the hospital waiting for surgery. A nurse came in to remove my IV so I could shower. Breakfast was custard, which went down quickly, and then I opened my laptop to respond to my emails. I eventually drifted off to sleep and woke again to find Agbeke in my room with her husband and children.

“Aunty Ajoke is awake now. Can we go near the bed?”, my niece asked. “Yes, you can,” their mom replied. My nieces and nephew gathered around my bed, asking me so many questions that I felt exhausted by the time I finished answering them. True to her promise, Agbeke brought me a homemade salad filled with some of my favourite things: avocados, pomegranate, and kiwi.

On Monday morning, Dr. T came by with a bright smile on his face. I was eager to see him, and that morning I made an effort to go through my skincare routine in anticipation of his visit. Thank goodness Agbeke passed by my house and Brough my essentials. I glanced at his hand and noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding band, which made me let out a big sigh. He talked about many things I didn’t fully pay attention to, but I caught the words “tomorrow” and “10 am,” which I thought were the only details I needed. Just as Dr. T was about to leave, he turned around and asked if I had any questions. I wanted to ask how old he was and if he was married, but instead, I smiled and said, “No, thank you. I trust you to do a good job.” He smiled back and left.

I contemplated working, but I wasn’t ready. I tried to watch my favourite romcom, but none of the scenes were funny to me. I checked the time: it was 11:00 am. What was I going to do with the twenty-three hours I had before surgery? I tried to sleep but couldn’t, I played some games, took a walk, had lunch, napped, and then had dinner. It became dark, and I tried to sleep again. I felt so restless that when the nurse came in to prepare me, I was already ready. I was informed that I had to skip breakfast, so I only had some tea while watching the clock until it was 9:00 am. Agbeke came in, and we were given some documents and waivers to sign. Oh Lord, I could feel my heart racing, and no amount of breathing exercises could calm me down. She held my hand and asked us to pray. While she made declarations, my mind felt miles away.

Moments later, I was wheeled into the operating room. Dr. T had assured me that I wouldn’t be awake for the procedure, which brought me some peace. As the anesthetic was administered, my mind started racing with all the worst-case scenarios. That was the last thing I remembered before drifting off.

When I woke up, I was in a different bed with a monitor beside me. It seemed like everything had gone well; at least, I hoped so. A nurse came by and told me I was under observation and that I’d be taken back to my room in a few minutes. All I could do was nod; it felt like I had lost the ability to speak or even move.

I closed my eyes again, and when I woke up, I found myself back in the familiar hospital room. Agbeke came over to hug me with a bright smile on her face. A few moments later, Dr. T entered and said the mass was bigger than they had thought, but they were able to remove it all, and all my organs were intact. He also mentioned that when I was able to look at my belly, I’d love my surgery scar because he made sure it was almost invisible. For some reason, I heard everything Dr. T said this time.

Friday arrived rather quickly, and it was time for me to go home. Dr. T came by with another bright smile, providing me with guidelines for the next two weeks. I decided to shoot my shot and ask for his number. When he asked if I had any questions, I replied, “Yes, can I have your number?” He responded, “I thought you’d never ask. I’ve been waiting for you to no longer be my patient.”

Mariam Shittu

Have a look at other short stories I’ve written – short story