I went to the hospital for a routine scan because of back pain, and the Doctor asked me a question that made me faint. "Madam, when exactly did you donate your LEFT KIDNEY?"
I am currently sitting in the reception of this diagnostic center in Ikeja. I am staring at the wall. I cannot breathe.
My husband, Dr. Banji, is calling my phone. The screen says "My Soulmate."
Soulmate? Or Soul Taker?
My name is Omowunmi. I have been married to Banji for five years.
Banji is a successful surgeon. He owns a private clinic in Surulere. He drives a Highlander. We live in a duplex.
People call me "Iya Doctor." They envy me. "Omowunmi, you are lucky o! You married a doctor. You will never pay for hospital bills."
I thought I was lucky too.
Three years ago, when I was pregnant with our first son, Banji insisted on delivering the baby himself.
"Wunmi, I cannot trust another doctor with my wife's life," he said, holding my hands. "I will perform the C-Section myself. I want to be the first hands to hold our son."
I was touched. I cried tears of joy. I felt loved.
The surgery was successful. But the recovery was hard.
For months after the CS, I had terrible pains in my lower back.
"It is normal," Banji told me, giving me injections every night. "It is the epidural side effect. It will go."
He gave me expensive drugs. He massaged my back. He pampered me.
The pain subsided, but it never fully left.
Last week, the pain returned with force. It felt like fire.
Banji was away at a Medical Conference in Ghana.
I couldn't wait. I drove myself to a different diagnostic center, one where nobody knows my husband.
I told them I wanted a full abdominal scan.
The Sonographer, a young man, put the cold gel on my stomach and started moving the probe.
He frowned. He pressed harder. He checked his screen again.
"Madam," he asked, looking confused. "Do you have a history of nephrectomy?"
"English, please," I said, trying to smile through the pain.
"I mean... did you sell or donate your kidney recently?"
I laughed. "God forbid! My kidneys are intact. I have never done surgery in my life... except my CS."
The young man turned the screen to me.
"Madam, look. You have only one kidney. The right one is there. The left one is gone. Surgically removed."
The room started spinning.
"Gone?" I whispered.
"Yes. And looking at the scar tissue inside, it was removed about three years ago."
Three years ago.
The C-Section.
My husband didn't deliver our baby. He harvested my organ.
The "New Car" he bought two weeks after our son was born?
The "Renovation" of our house?
The "Vacation" to Dubai?
It was me. I paid for it. Piece by piece.
He cut me open, took my kidney, sold it on the black market, and sewed me back up.
And then he came home and kissed me. He called me "My Treasure."
I am trembling.
I looked at my chat history with him.
Just yesterday, he sent me a message:
"Baby, when I come back from Ghana, we need to schedule that Appendicitis surgery. Your stomach has been swelling. Let me treat it once and for all."
Appendicitis?
My appendix is fine.
He wants the second one. He wants to finish the job.
The "Conference" in Ghana is probably him meeting a buyer for the remaining kidney.
I am holding the scan report.
If I go home, he will kill me. If I confront him, he is a doctor, he knows how to make death look like an accident. "Oh, she died of complications."
I have 10 Million Naira in a joint account with him.
I want to withdraw every kobo, take my son, and vanish.
But my son...
My son is with his mother, my mother-in-law, right now.
Does she know? Is it a family business?
I need to act fast. He lands in Lagos tonight at 8 PM.
Should I go to the police? (He has connections).
Or should I cook his favorite meal, drug him, and call the same organ hunters he deals with to come and take HIS own kidneys?
An eye for an eye. A kidney for a kidney.
I am feeling a demonic anger rising in me.
Drop a comment if you think I should take his own kidneys tonight! #writer #community #facebookpost
I am currently sitting in the reception of this diagnostic center in Ikeja. I am staring at the wall. I cannot breathe.
My husband, Dr. Banji, is calling my phone. The screen says "My Soulmate."
Soulmate? Or Soul Taker?
My name is Omowunmi. I have been married to Banji for five years.
Banji is a successful surgeon. He owns a private clinic in Surulere. He drives a Highlander. We live in a duplex.
People call me "Iya Doctor." They envy me. "Omowunmi, you are lucky o! You married a doctor. You will never pay for hospital bills."
I thought I was lucky too.
Three years ago, when I was pregnant with our first son, Banji insisted on delivering the baby himself.
"Wunmi, I cannot trust another doctor with my wife's life," he said, holding my hands. "I will perform the C-Section myself. I want to be the first hands to hold our son."
I was touched. I cried tears of joy. I felt loved.
The surgery was successful. But the recovery was hard.
For months after the CS, I had terrible pains in my lower back.
"It is normal," Banji told me, giving me injections every night. "It is the epidural side effect. It will go."
He gave me expensive drugs. He massaged my back. He pampered me.
The pain subsided, but it never fully left.
Last week, the pain returned with force. It felt like fire.
Banji was away at a Medical Conference in Ghana.
I couldn't wait. I drove myself to a different diagnostic center, one where nobody knows my husband.
I told them I wanted a full abdominal scan.
The Sonographer, a young man, put the cold gel on my stomach and started moving the probe.
He frowned. He pressed harder. He checked his screen again.
"Madam," he asked, looking confused. "Do you have a history of nephrectomy?"
"English, please," I said, trying to smile through the pain.
"I mean... did you sell or donate your kidney recently?"
I laughed. "God forbid! My kidneys are intact. I have never done surgery in my life... except my CS."
The young man turned the screen to me.
"Madam, look. You have only one kidney. The right one is there. The left one is gone. Surgically removed."
The room started spinning.
"Gone?" I whispered.
"Yes. And looking at the scar tissue inside, it was removed about three years ago."
Three years ago.
The C-Section.
My husband didn't deliver our baby. He harvested my organ.
The "New Car" he bought two weeks after our son was born?
The "Renovation" of our house?
The "Vacation" to Dubai?
It was me. I paid for it. Piece by piece.
He cut me open, took my kidney, sold it on the black market, and sewed me back up.
And then he came home and kissed me. He called me "My Treasure."
I am trembling.
I looked at my chat history with him.
Just yesterday, he sent me a message:
"Baby, when I come back from Ghana, we need to schedule that Appendicitis surgery. Your stomach has been swelling. Let me treat it once and for all."
Appendicitis?
My appendix is fine.
He wants the second one. He wants to finish the job.
The "Conference" in Ghana is probably him meeting a buyer for the remaining kidney.
I am holding the scan report.
If I go home, he will kill me. If I confront him, he is a doctor, he knows how to make death look like an accident. "Oh, she died of complications."
I have 10 Million Naira in a joint account with him.
I want to withdraw every kobo, take my son, and vanish.
But my son...
My son is with his mother, my mother-in-law, right now.
Does she know? Is it a family business?
I need to act fast. He lands in Lagos tonight at 8 PM.
Should I go to the police? (He has connections).
Or should I cook his favorite meal, drug him, and call the same organ hunters he deals with to come and take HIS own kidneys?
An eye for an eye. A kidney for a kidney.
I am feeling a demonic anger rising in me.
Drop a comment if you think I should take his own kidneys tonight! #writer #community #facebookpost
