The first time I realised something was wrong with my head, it was in an examination hall at the University of Ibadan, where I had forgotten everything I had read. I went blank and couldn’t write anything, even though I had burned the candle for that paper. I had never experienced that before: to be in an exam hall and have nothing to write. When I shared the experience with my dad, he didn’t take me seriously, stating that I didn’t prepare. But I did.
I visited the family doctor alone. After a series of MRIs and CT Scans, the doctor diagnosed me with meningioma, a brain tumour. That moment opened a gate of emotions that I had buried since my mother dealt with the same condition. I had a full-blown panic attack as I remembered the financial and emotional stress that we went through with mum. “It’s not the end of the world,” the doctor assured me.
The tumour was still in the first stage and was removable. I resumed the third year of school, but only my body was in school. I couldn’t go to class and missed a lot of tests. Knowing I was sick mentally strained me. I couldn’t relate with myself. I stopped talking to my best friend. I had heard that people have cancer and tumours, but until then, I didn’t know what it felt like.
I didn’t inform the school authorities, clinic, or even my friends. I put on a smiling facade, but deep down, I knew I was going through a lot. Missing classes and tests affected my results, which only affected me more. One day, I decided I couldn’t do it anymore and dropped out.
I went through my first and second surgeries, but it felt like it was getting worse every time. I would just sit and sleep off. Not because I wanted to sleep, but because the tumour secretes some hormones that make one sleepy and dizzy. The biggest issue was that I forgot things right after they were said. You could tell me your name now, and I wouldn’t remember.
I re-enrolled at Ekiti State University (EKSU) for computer science. In EKSU, I don’t go to many classes because there’s a high chance I’ll forget what was taught. I collect notes and read instead. I prefer reading because I can always go back to it when I forget. And that’s how I’m able to cope with the illness now.
I recently did my third and last surgery. And right now, I feel better. I don’t forget things as much. During the surgery, I ghosted everyone, including school, again. But this time, I notified my HOD and the school authorities when I returned and I was really glad with what they did for me.
I came back to school right when they started exams. But because I had missed a lot of classes and tests, they shifted my exam for me. The lecturers provided me with summary notes of what they did in the semester. My HOD also assured me that my results would be duly considered and everything would be fine. Now, I write my exams at my convenience. I don’t know if any other school does that for a student.
I haven’t been stigmatised because I rarely tell or show that I’m sick. Only a few friends are aware and they respond well; they don’t see me as a sick person. While I didn’t tell the school authorities in UI, I’m glad I could tell them in EKSU.
I noticed that in both schools, there are no associations that bring people with these illnesses together. Let us design a programme for people who are sick; create awareness that even if you’re going through a lot, it is not the end of life. More importantly, there should be awareness against discrimination. There are certain things you can do that I can’t, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be treated as an equal.
As narrated by: Akaza* (Ado-Ekiti, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of the series, Beyond What You See.
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