“How come you can be a lord and a loser
How come, how come, you can be a liar and a good father?
A good dad, but a bad husband
Why are you a good father?
A great dad, but a bad husband”—Eminem (Revival-Bad Husband).
“For Abidemi, my heart.”
Mother said my father was a coward. At first, I didn’t understand what the word meant. But after pouring through the dictionary, I perfectly understood its meaning. Its context was what I struggled with next. How is my father a coward when I never knew him? How come he wasn’t brave when he never entered any battles—the numerous ones my mother and I fought daily? It took several years for me to understand its context.
The day Folashade told me she was pregnant thirteen years ago. I felt my legs shiver. A static nerve had circled through my brain, passed through my spine and ended in my legs. I thought we used protection. I managed to find my words. She stared at me as though I had said the most foolish thing in the universe, her eyes scanning my whole body. The words had fallen out of my mouth, but now they embarrassed me. Don’t you know that protections are not 100% effective? She replied out of frustration. I know…. I managed to say before I walked out from her presence like my father had walked out on my mother and me.
Till today I couldn’t explain why I walked away. I didn’t feel fear or any emotion. Instead, all the cells in my body were activated towards one thing—flight.
I didn’t also know how to feel when thirteen years later, I saw Folashade again. This time I was doing my ward rounds with some student doctors and nurses. Seeing her was almost like deja vu. I’ve played this scenario a million times, but seeing her in the hospital evaded every other scenario. For some seconds, we stared at each other unable to say any words. Then suddenly, she stood up and walked out. Everyone around us was stunned. The entire ward seemed like a theatre scene. I immediately ran after her, calling her name. She finally stopped under the palm tree, its shade covering her from the sun. I had also hoped it might cover my shame and embarrassment. Folashade was still beautiful; her skin remained the same even after all the years, fair and radiant. Although she had added a bit of flesh, she was still the same. She still had the effect of making men ogre at her whenever she walked or entered a room. Hell, she still had that effect on me.
I walked up to her and was greeted with a daunting slap across my face. Her palm was soft, but the bones cushioned the force and sent my face to the stars. The slap was deserving. Although it took seconds to recover from the slap, I gathered myself knowing fully well that the slap left its mark on my face. She groaned. She, too, had been hurt by the slap. Her wrist was sprained. I tried to move closer to her, to grab her hand and reset her wrist, but she moved away from me. Suddenly I saw a man walk up to us. He grabbed her by the waist; baby, are you okay? She mumbled some words as she embraced the man, her head resting on his broad chest. I swallowed. Who are you? He asked me. I didn’t know when I began walking away again. The walk back to the ward was long, and such walks are called the coward’s walk.
Ijeoma, my wife. We met at a party five years ago, and I immediately knew she was my wife. I had a strong feeling in my gut that made me confident to walk up and speak to her. She was beautiful, more beautiful than anyone I had known except Folashade. In a way, I had thought Folashade had reincarnated but this time as a much younger woman. Ijeoma stood by me even when things went sideways in my last posting. An overzealous consultant had accused me of medical malpractice to cover his lack of knowledge. The case had started like a small joke which ended in a long-drawn lawsuit. Eventually, I prevailed not out of luck but out of my knowledge and the tenacity and brilliance of Ijeoma, my lawyer and my wife. She had decided to represent me pro bono. I didn’t understand why, but I think it had something to do with our feelings for each other. We became engaged after the court proceedings and married one humid day three years ago. It was a great feeling to say confidently that Ijeoma was the love of my life, but all that was about to change with the presence of Folashade.
I went back to the ward and position met Folashade, my entourage was still waiting for me. I was sure they had tried peeping through the window to get a glimpse of the drama and gossiped throughout my absence. They probably also saw the slap, but I was over the embarrassment now. I wanted to know why Folashade was in the hospital. I was curious. On the bed lay a teenage girl. I collected her chart and looked into it “chronic kidney failure.” It was highlighted in the chart. The young lady looked straight at me and smiled. Then she went back to sleep. Suddenly my mind began to run afoul.
Her name is Abidemi. Folashade walked in behind me, saying. I only nodded. She continues, she’s our daughter. Such words were uttered so casually, but they stung my heart. My legs failed me again, I almost ran off, but every eye in the room was transfixed on me. She walked to my face this time and stared directly into my eyes. Are you going to run away again?
Folashade was my knight in shining armour. We met when she was in university, and I was in med school. It wasn’t love at first sight for us, but it was love. On a hot September morning, I had been cramming from my introduction to cardiology textbook, and she was, stomping into the room, distracting me. At first, I ignored it until the mechanisms of thrombosis proved challenging to enter my head; that was when I had enough. I asked her to be silent kindly, but she wouldn’t budge. We went into a full-blown argument which led to the kicking out of us both out of the library. Eventually, the day ended with us in the bar drinking like old comrades, and the year ended with us getting married on the beach without any friends or relatives. We were high on love, and against the wind, nothing else mattered except us. The agreement was to have no kids until she graduated and I became a full medical doctor. But all of that plans went down the drain when she became pregnant.
Ijeoma listened quietly while I explained everything. I had expected her to rage, scream and hit me. But she did none of that. She sat silently, and after I was done, she let out a long sigh and told me she wanted to see Abidemi. I knew it was final.
I barely had any sleep that night. Ijeoma, on the hand, slept soundingly. My mind wandered through the years, creating hypothetical scenarios about how our lives would’ve been. Folashade, myself and Abidemi, what a trio we would’ve been. Folashade and I both dreamt about days like that. I blame myself for everything. Only if I didn’t run away, maybe I would’ve been a great husband and a good father.
It was almost 7 am by the time we got to the hospital. The ride from home was silent except for the little sounds of Ijeoma humming. She always did that whenever she was nervous. I knew since last night that she had been worried. She was calm whenever she was scared. I parked the car in my designated spot. Before, I would’ve walked into the hospital with a cup of coffee and a sandwich, but today wasn’t normal, and I wasn’t just a doctor. I was a father now. With Ijeoma by myself, we headed straight to the ward. I found Abidemi flanked by Folashade and her husband. They looked happy—they were delighted.
Both Ijeoma and Folashade greeted each other warmly. I took the hand of her husband firmly. We mumbled some greetings, and I was left alone with Abidemi. Daddy, I’ve heard so much about you, she said. Immediately, my heart sank, and I became teary. I knelt beside the bed, grabbed her hands and looked at her face. She had all of my distinct features. She was indeed my child. She told me everything about herself, and I listened intently. I was with her all day, even when the nurses took her for dialysis. I wheeled the chair listening to her speak about her dreams and aspirations. I grinned proudly like a great dad. I met up with the nephrologists and urologist consultants in charge of her case. They explained professionally that the only way for her was through a kidney transplant. But that was a long shot because the waiting list was too long, and everyone around her wasn’t a match. I left the room deflated, but I went straights to the lab to test myself and see if I was a match. If I still had two kidneys, the least I could do was give my daughter one.
We do not want anything from you, Folashade would say. I stuttered, but I understood. Sitting beside her was her husband. Opposite him sat Ijeoma. She looked sternly at them. She was still silent. Her silence discomforted me, but I continued talking, trying to convince Folashade and her husband that I was the only shot at saving our daughter. The daughter I had just met less than 72 hours ago.
I understand how you feel. You do not want to be indebted to a selfish, arrogant and wicked man. The man abandoned you and his child for years only to come now and try to be a father. I understand how you must feel. It must be gut-wrenching. Ijeoma began to speak, and all eyes were on her, including mine. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, but I knew they were deserving. Ijeoma was a great listener. Her job as a lawyer had made her one. She could watch you intently while you spoke, matching your every body language to your words. For the past few days, she had done so to me, which is why her words and conclusions were final. I understand that I am a stranger here, but if I may, I plead to you woman to woman, mother to mother, as I would also have my child too. She was rubbing her belly. Abidemi is your child, he may be the father, but she’s yours forever. You see, we don’t own men, but they’re capable of giving us the best gifts of our lives, which are our children. Please, allow him to save this child, and then you can think of your following action. She stood up, stared at me and left the room. As if Ijeoma's words were prophecies, Folashade sighed, grabbed her pen and signed the piece of paper in front of her, grabbed her husband’s hands, and they both left the room. I was left alone in the room. All the fears I had run from thirteen years ago had finally caught up with me. I remembered my mother’s words and the pain in her eyes when she said those words and imagined Folashade would also feel that way. Hell, I was a coward, but now I had to make things right. Donating one of my kidneys was the barest minimum. If Abidemi couldn’t have all of me, at least she must have a part of me.
While I was being prepped for the surgery, Folashade entered the room. She sat on the bed and looked down at her feet. I had never imagined seeing you again. Every year since you left, I had imagined that the only plausible reason for your disappearance was death. I told our daughter that you must’ve died. But I didn’t want to believe it. My heart didn’t want to consider it. I guess it was because I loved you too intensely. But seeing you that day, I felt rage, rage beyond anything I could ever imagine. But unfortunately for us, the universe had a plan which includes you. I do not forgive you for everything you did to us. I want to tell you now this isn’t penance, and if you die there, I hope you rot in hell. Her words stung me, it was as though the surgery had begun, and I was still conscious. Her words, like a surgeon’s blade, cut my insides wide open. After saying those words, she left the room.
Abidemi and I were wheeled into the theatre side-by-side. Both her parents flanked her; she seemed very excited. For the first time, I noticed that she looked exactly like my late mother. Our hands were interlocked as she had requested that we go in together. Just by the door of the theatre stood Ijeoma. The entourage stopped for me but continued with Abidemi. She knelt, kissed me on my lips and whispered in my ear, please do not die in there. We have a child coming. Suddenly the news of Ijeoma's pregnancy increased my heartbeat. What had she meant by those words? Does she think that my soul would prefer death than to face my pregnant wife? I was determined to prove her wrong.
Count to 10, sir, the anesthesiologist whispered to me. 1,2,3,4,5………I was in a good place, surrounded by children. I saw Abidemi and Ijeoma, Folashade and my late mother all gisting. They all looked up and saw me waving to me to come towards them. I was smiling. They were smiling like one big happy family. I hoped I wasn't dreaming and if I was all that could be possible in reality when I woke up—a second chance to be a great dad and good husband.
Did he die in there?
That was a beautiful read
Oh my days ! Really really moving story. Couldn’t get enough of it ! Where is the rest ?