From any distance, you
could see the effects of intense chemotherapy on the body of Samuel Ofor. He was terminally ill.
His head was bald,
as his hair had fallen to radiation treatment. His palms and feet were as dark
as charcoal, and his yellow eyeballs protruded from his eye sockets.
In his final days,
Sam walked at a slow pace; occasionally coughing, as he tried to engage anyone
in a conversation. He was still
easy-going and minding his business: a charming husband and father brutalized
by lung cancer.
Inside his spacious
home, his six children, including four-year-old quadruplets, disturbed his
moments; each of them seeking their father’s affection and singular attention.
They loved their ill dad, but Sam was too weak for their young and exuberant
synergy. He would sit solemnly, quietly appreciating his gifts and hoping
prayers would heal what doctors had concluded was cancer that had spread to his
lungs.
“Jebose, I just
wished to beat this illness, live longer and raise my beautiful children. I
don’t know how much time I have left, but I have rededicated the remainder of
my days on earth to my wife and children. I am hopeful every day that the new
medicine would keep me alive for a longer time.”
It was in early
winter of 2012, the beginning of holiday season, that Samuel Ofor was diagnosed
with colon cancer at the Duke Medical Center in Durham, North Carolina. He had surgery to remove the cancerous colon.
In the spring of
last year, when he went to the hospital for a follow-up check, a Computerized
Axial Tomography, (CatScan), revealed that cancer had spread to his lungs.
Doctors told him recently there was no cure; their only hope was to shrink the
cancerous tumors which had spread to his lungs. The shrinking would reduce and
contain the growth of the tumor and perhaps, prolong his life.
Samuel remembers the
first signs of his illness thus: “I pulled into a gas station after feeling an
excruciating pain that afternoon in 2012. I just had my lunch. After lunch, I
felt something had loosened in my stomach. The pain was severe, so I pulled
over and called 911 Emergency. After placing the call, I collapsed in my car before
the police and the Ambulance got to me. I woke up inside the Emergency Room ER,
of the hospital. I was diagnosed with colon cancer and [was] immediately
transferred to surgery since my intestines [had burst] inside my stomach. After
surgery, I began an aggressive chemotherapy treatment to kill the remaining
cancer cells. Two years after, November
2014, during my regular check, doctors discovered that cancer had returned to
my lungs. I never thought about having
lung cancer. I had always believed that lung cancer was a smoker’s disease. I
am not a smoker or tobacco user. But
today, I am terminally ill with the deadly disease.”
According to WebMD:
“The lungs are two large organs made of spongy tissues, which lie above the
diaphragm and under the rib cage. When you breathe in, your lungs absorb oxygen
and deliver it to the bloodstream where it’s pumped throughout the body. When
you exhale, the lungs remove carbon dioxide, a waste gas, from the bloodstream.
Lung cancer interferes with this vital process and can make breathing more
difficult…”
“Jebose, I am not
afraid of dying, but my children are still young. I don’t want them to grow
without a father in their lives. I have accepted the fact that it is a terminal
disease. I am doing my best to fight
cancer, but I have to be realistic with you and my family. I know it’s a terminal disease. Some patients
live with terminal diseases for many years… There had been cases where some
suffer from heart diseases for fifty years and lived with them. I understand that
lung cancer cannot be cured but I can live with it until God calls me Home.”
“Jebose, the doctors
are trying to shrink the tumors so that I could manage the shrink with
medication the rest of my life. I need prayers.
I don’t need medication in these remaining times of my life. I want to
be cured but I understand that this is also a deadly disease.”
Four years ago, Sam
Ofor and his wife had quadruplets in their third attempt. They had had two sons and the wife wanted a
third trial with the hope of having a baby girl.
“My wife wanted a
girl badly. I don’t blame her. She had the two boys and me. So having three men
in the house wasn’t a fair deal. I also prayed to God to grant her a girl. God blessed us abundantly with quadruplets,
three boys, and one girl. The days may
be counting down faster than I expected. I am not afraid of dying. I am only
disturbed that I may not live long to walk my only daughter down the aisle and
see my sons grow to become great men. I want them to always remember me as a good
father, a loving husband that wanted the best for them.”
Every two weeks, Sam
is administered chemo treatment three times in one day.
The side effects of
chemo weaken his immune system. Sam has reduced significantly his work
schedule, and that has impacted his income and quality of life. His family
struggles every day to survive, he said.
“My brother, how do
you tell these young children that you can’t provide them with basic things of
life such as clothing and food. It’s a struggle. I am weaker each day because
of the illness and the chemo treatment.
I don’t get any assistance from the government. But we are surviving at
a slower pace these times. Its painful reality and reminder never to take your
life for granted. I am at peace with my soul. I only worry about my children
when I am not able to function or when the Lord says it is time to return home.
I guess I will be watching them from the twilight of the stars and the milky
ways of sunrise.”
Samuel Ofor migrated
to the United States on December 31st, 1984. He received a college admission to
study accounting at Shaw University in Raleigh, North Carolina.
“I left Nigeria in
search of the best education in 1984. I attended Shaw University and graduated
in 1989. After my college years, I began to work, and settled into mainstream
lifestyles of America. I traveled to
Nigeria in 2006 and was introduced to this amazing woman whom I would marry
later. We have been blessed with six children.”
Early in the morning
of July 8, Samuel Ofor invited this writer to his hospital room at Duke Raleigh
Hospital: “Jebose, I have been here since Tuesday. It’s getting nowhere.
Doctors said I would be moved to a Hospice by 10.45 a.m. its 7.20. Please, can
you come and see me?”
This writer arrived
at the hospital a few hours later. Ofor sat on the edge of his bed, slowly
eating a warm breakfast as he discussed with his doctor. The doctor reassured him of his continued
care at the Wake Hospice.
By 11 a.m, first
responders arrived at his room, and he was rolled out of his bed into the
Ambulance. We arrived at the Wake Hospice, a quiet, neat, calm and comfortable
suburb for the dying. Ofor complained he was still having serious pains with
his breath.
The staff quickly
settled him into a comfortable bed. The doctor assured him that he would be
given pain medication within minutes to help relieve pain in his lungs. Noon
rays were warming the blue sky of North Carolina when I left Ofor in the care
of the hospice staff. “I go come back by 5 p.m.,” I said to him as I waved
goodbye and made my exit.
About three hours
after I left, at 3 p.m, the painful cries of Chizoba on my phone told of the
exit of Ofor. She had been informed of
the death of her husband, and she was on her way to the Hospice. I told her I
would join her because I was closer to the Hospice location at that very time.
Ofor had died about
four hours after arriving at the Hospice home. He lay on his bed, holding onto
his rosary given to him earlier at the hospital by Mrs. Mary Ngwadom when she
visited that morning, his hands on his stomach, resting peacefully. He was at
peace, even in his sleep. The early stress
wrinkles on his face had disappeared. The streaks of the room light bouncing
off his shiny dark skin, he looked asleep, and ten years younger. His phone, placed on the table by his feet,
rang two times. I answered and told the caller the owner of the phone was
dead. I switched off the phone as
Chizoba wailed, passionately and painfully.
Next week, the
Nigerian community will gather, in Raleigh, to appreciate his life and times
with them.Saharareporters
Follow Solenzo Blog on
0 Comments