My Fibroid embolization journey.
I’m meant to be at the hospital right now, doing a procedure called Fibroid embolization but the hospital called me
yesterday to cancel. They said they have an emergency and have to reschedule my procedure. Big sigh. So, I am going
to have to carry this big tummy for a while longer. But at least, the end is in sight. And it is not as if it’s their fault really. I am the one that has been delaying surgical intervention of the fibroid. I can’t be like that creature in Igbo folklore. You know that one in the Chinua Achebe novel? The one who fell into a well and was there for days before it was noticed that it was in the well? Just when the creature was being rescued, the creature started shouting at the rescuers to do quick! Don’t you know that things are bad in here?! Lol…
I was diagnosed with uterine fibroid more than 15 years ago but I did not let it bother me as it did not seem to affect my health. But every so often, my various GPs would tell me that I needed to have it removed. But still, I would refuse to have the operation. I don’t know about you, but I hate unnecessary surgery. And the older I get, the more scared I am of not waking up from anaesthesia. So, for the longest time, I managed it. It was not too bad actually. My periods were still light and I was able to have Tobi.
While pregnant with Tobi, I developed a craving for dust, a form of Pica. I would feel like using my tongue to dust the house instead of the duster. I could not do anything about this longing so, I ignored it hoping that it would go away once I had my baby. It did not go away but it significantly reduced. I no longer dreamt of being a pig, rolling around in mud. And so, this craving was controlled. I loved and still love the smell of the first rain on parched earth. The faint smell of the earth is like a crazy itch in an un-scratch-able area. I want that smell to be stronger but it keeps teasing my senses. It is there in the air, but not strong enough to satisfy me. And of course, it is not every day that the rain falls on parched grounds. But about two years ago, the craving intensified so much that I actually went on to buy clay on Amazon. But the commercial clay has been deodorised. I was quite disappointed when it arrived as it did not have the smell that I craved. I learnt that there is some Indian clay too but no matter how much I looked for it, I just could not get information on buying it. My sister, Bukola sent me some stash of Calabar from Lagos and that is what I am managing. The Calabar sold here is salted. I don’t like the salted one. Infact, I don’t trust the salted one. How is a rock salted? For all you know sef, e fit not be rock. Probably some bits and bobs ground and then shaped to look like Calabar. Anyway, I am managing this my Lagos stash until further notice.
My stash of clay and Calabar.
After JOPA died, I suddenly started craving garri. Dry garri. Not garri for drinking o. Just dry garri with no sugar. I would go to the kitchen and scoop some in my palm and eat. This was weird because I don’t particularly like drinking garri so why was I eating it dry? From scooping it in my palms, I started putting it in a tea cup and taking it to the room or the lounge to do whatever I was doing … watching TV… reading… I would be munching away. Then soon, I needed more than a teacup. I needed to have it in a bowl. Increasingly, the bowl was getting fuller and fuller. Once, I went to Lagos and as soon as I got to my sister Funmi’s house straight from the airport, what did I ask for? Yep. Garri. I told my sisters of this new desire for garri and then they told me that JOPA had had a craving for garri as well and that whenever he walked past the kitchen, he would scoop some in his palms to eat. So, we all laughed and joked that maybe JOPA’s spirit was channelling into me.
To be cont.