I Am (Un)Well: A Journey Through Faith and Illness

 

In the past few days, the hardest words for me to say—even as a believer—are “I am well.”

For me, saying “I am well” feels more like a declaration of faith than a reflection of my reality, and it’s made me resent humanity.

I found myself wishing that the world would pause, just long enough for me to get better. 

But half the world doesn’t even know what I’m going through, and the ones who do have no idea how bad things really are.

I’m not a fan of pity, but for the first time in years, I wish there was a bit more concern.

And yet, I’m grateful that not too many people know about my illness—because now, I believe, it’s over.

Still, I hate the experience: sitting still for 27 minutes, staring blankly while a test is run on me. 

I dislike how much of my blood has been drawn, the fear and uncertainty, the waiting for test results that seem to take forever. 

I hate that every little thing feels like a symptom to me. 

I almost cut my precious dreads—the ones I just started growing—and I hate that the world kept moving while I felt stuck. 

I mock myself for not being able to keep up, for feeling scared.

But I’ve put on my faith. 

I’ve worn heels more than once, allowed Pastor Ubong and Coach Su to pray with me, and tried to muster the courage to speak without fear. 

Yet, I still find it hard to explain to others what it means to be “this type of unwell.”

I’m no longer counting the days; it no longer feels like I’m dying. Still, the thought of walking the gold-paved roads of heaven seems much more appealing than queuing for fuel or paying bills. 

It takes a lot to come back and a while to start again, but as I write this in the hope of pulling myself together, I know I am forgiven for my doubts.

I wanted so badly to take a walk; it’s harder with Lola not being around.

It’s almost comical how many old friends I’ve tried not to call and how much work I’m trying to dive back into. 

It’s even funnier how I thought my life was over when, in truth, it’s just begun.

I’m stuck on the adage, “You never know until it’s you,” because it’s so true. 

Once a fighter, always a fighter—a good one, at that.

What an August. Quite a lot of meetings it came with. 

I hate the number of pauses that I’ve had. 

The amount of let’s take it slow.

I even hate the rooms that I’ve walked into while saying, it’s okay, I am good - while I wasn’t good.

But certainly, this journey continues. 

Until then, shall His will be done. 

Isaiah 53:5 says, "He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes, we are healed."

This verse is my anchor. And as I navigate this journey of faith and uncertainty - heck, now I am certain. Omo Lile ni mi… I hold on knowing I am healed, knowing that every struggle brings me closer to peace.

Oh tip, if you die, aje, no one cares. I promise, I just learned that. People move so fast, heck, you weren’t even on priority list.