There was now a dilemma. How was I going to get a cardiologist who would conduct the stress test in my current situation? My dearest cousin recommended a female cardiologist, Dr. Mrs Nweari Ajoku. We soon discovered that her clinic was in Lekki. By the time I spoke to her at about 8.00am the next morning, she said she wouldn’t be available till later that afternoon.
When I explained my full condition to her and she considered the risk involved, she advised that it was too risky for me to take the trip from Ikeja to Lekki. My family physician, Dr. Morawo, agreed with her. He opined that even though he was able to provide two big oxygen cylinders, he could not guarantee my safety. Since the traffic enroute to Lekki is unpredictable, he thought it was a dangerous gamble to put me on that route.
Dr. Morawo also refused to let me go that long distance. Even if we prepare enough oxygen for a 2-hour round trip, we might end up spending close to 3 or 4 hours in the traffic jam. My life could be lost during the process.
Since both doctors advised against such a course of action, I conceded to them. We continued our search for a cardiologist, preferably one on the mainland.
Our search led us to the consulting room of Dr. Gbolade Lasisi at Ikeja, a rather simple-looking doctor who turned out to really know his onions. I was sure distrust was expressed on my face as I watched him observe my palms over and over, and observed their back for almost the same duration he did on the front.
He reached out his gloved hands towards my eyes and pulled an eyelid down. He made a loud sound of satisfaction as he checked my other eyelid.
Settling back in his seat, he said, “This doesn’t seem to be a serious problem.”
My brows shut up in alarm. How could it not be a serious problem? I had been battling this condition for more than six weeks. I almost lost my life even. But this doctor said it didn’t seem like a serious problem.
I almost didn’t want to believe him, but I remembered that he was the professional here. Although I was the one with the shortened breath, I was still just a patient.
He wrote something on his prescription pad and handed the note to me. “Use one tablet at night before you sleep. Let me know what effect it has.”
I collected the note with a little doubt in my mind but still believing the words of a doctor. The doubts increased when I got the drugs and found out that it was sold over the counter for just a hundred naira.
I had spent thousands of naira on oxygen and nebulizer consumables, tests and other failed treatments. What was an hundred naira drug going to do?
I used it, just as prescribed.
The next morning, to God be the glory, I took my first unaided breath in 6 weeks.
As the unpurified air rushed into my lungs, it was almost like someone breathed life into me. It was like I was the recipient of the first breath of life God had breathed into Adam.
With just this one-hundred-naira drug, I didn’t have to go near an oxygen cylinder again.
I am no better than the man who lost his breath and gave up the ghost within eight hours. I am no better than the people in the COVID-19 isolation wards who lost their breath and didn’t get to survive.
But God sustained me for six weeks on his breath. I lost my breath but it wasn’t enough to lose my life.
When you feel like you’re suffocated by whatever situation life throws at you, or you feel like you can’t catch your breath, just remember that you’re sustained by God’s breath. Everything is going to be fine because He is in charge. You are not going to be lost.
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