'Labisi: Chronicles of A Breast Cancer Warrior

CHAPTER 2

Journal entry by Karen Delgado — 2/24/2010

'I had an unusual reaction to being at the cancer center, today.  I started crying when I got into the infusion section!--first time I did that.
As many of you know...last week, a father of one of my student's died of cancer.  I wasn't able to attend the viewing or the service b/c I was sick.  The reality of all this just hit me.  For some reason, there seemed to be a larger group of people in the infusion rooms that looked more sickly.  Usually, most of us are pretty healthy looking...cheerful...talkative, etc.  Maybe it was b/c I was thinking about the death of this man that I noticed this.  I prayed for this family as I was there.  My heart goes out to them...  It also makes me realize that there is another side to what I am going through...and that is those of you who are concerned for me.  I guess the impact of someone's death hits all of us at different times.  I didn't know this man, personally...'

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HOME CREAKED. It was indeed, familiar- but make no mistake about its smell. It irked of disdained must.

As I open the doors of my one time home, an image of 13 year old me, springs to life before me, as  touch the chairs- the dining room, all evidence of what once was life.

I was 13, just about to take that sharp-crossing road into puberty; and at this  juncture, I had to watch my mum being frail- not aged enough to be frail; yet frail. Her frailty held within it, an accustomed strength which held nothing of pity. Just strength.

Now, we are at the hospital. With deepened furrows, I look on as together with my dad, we take determined yet almost forced steps in the direction of the doctor’s office. We had barely closed the door, when we started to receive an unwanted lecture on the undoings of ill-health, and the progressive trance into which Mother is slipping.

‘Yes, weight loss is not uncommon.’

My father, shuffles- but he still remains seated, now leaning at a slightly awkward angle; facing Dr. Salako. If I know him well enough, I know; if given the chance, he’d spring up and walk out- if only to empty his full ears of what the doctor seemed to feel comfortable insinuating.

He must have passed across this kind of news, often. Too often. I found myself mildly sorry at the fact that care had been sucked out of him over time.

Emaciated mother, was the new model of normalcy. Father, was besotted with grief.

Even I, only child as I was, could only try my best to hold in the grief which had risen and now seemed to occlude my chest.

In whorls and circles, in my mind, I went over those words that I had formed, over and over again.

Emaciated mother, was the new model of normalcy.

She died.

3 weeks after Dr. Salako had pronounced, peering past wire-framed glasses, that she couldn’t have cheomotherapy because there were no working machines in Lagos, Ilorin or Kano- well, there were only three which circulated round the country for the normal 180 million thin-lipped Nigerians.

The privileged elite were flown abroad, because they just couldn’t share with the non-elite; who were members of any group other than the upper social class.

Thank God they didn’t, who knew if they would have confiscated 2 of the 3 which had on-off moments; only coming on at the smell of some thick money?

She died, that morning.

But I am her offspring, and still live to tell her story.

I still live, to tell my story.

I am ‘Labisi; and I am a breast cancer warrior!  
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P.S: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next chapter will be on this blog by 6:00pm on the 18th May, 2017. All feedback, is highly welcome! You can read more of Karen's journal entries about her battle with breast cancer at CaringBridge.org (Personal name: karendelgado1)