Thread by @phearlessozii, My brother and I were playing and he decided he wanted to [...]

My brother and I were playing and he decided he wanted to urinate and asked me to follow him. I did. And he urinated blood! I was a child I knew nothing. I said nothing. That night he slept with my mum and in the middle of night he cried out clutching his chest. Dad took them to

the hospital. His blood was short. Blood was tranfused and he came home. That was not the end. That was the beginning. Look, my mum is a warrior and I ask God every day to bless me to bless my mother.
My brother would continue urinating blood and getting weak and admitted in the

hospital all the time. He missed school. I am the elder sister, in school every teacher would ask about my brother& #39;s health because he was off and on a lot. He always had pale lips. Yellow lips! My dad is the the most emotional man ever. He& #39;d sit in his room and cry. I cried too.

My mum, our lion, was in the war front going from hospital to hospital, admission after admission, absorbing one news after the other. Why was my brother urinating blood? The doctors found nothing. And the last query was CANCER! LEUKEMIA! He is my only brother and we loved to be

called twins! My mum absorbed every information like she was some thick foam soaking in water. She never mentioned cancer to my dad, she never told my dad my brother got infected with hepatitis B from blood transfusion. The blood wasn& #39;t tested because my brother had vomitted bile

and his black eye turned into his head. My mum stared at my brother& #39;s stiff body. She rolled on the dirt at Port Harcourt teaching hospital. She felt it was the end. They couldn& #39;t take any more blood from her. So her sister came running and without getting tested donated

to my brother. He lived again. My mum never told my father. She never told my father that during one family reunion in PH that my brother vomitted faeces from his MOUTH! I saw this!!! 2005! My father knew he was sick, he just didn& #39;t have the details. My mum is a health

official so she knew best to keep them from a fragile man and chested it all. She didn& #39;t mention the test for cancer, infact she was not going to allow that. Because she dreamt where she was jubilating that my brother didn& #39;t have cancer. This lingered on. And by now, we didn& #39;t

know he had hepatitis B at all. My dad was going down. One day, he went to the hospital to see his wife and son. My mum saw her husband dragging his left foot, his eyes dim, his left hand shaking, his car keys fell and he didn& #39;t even know! Mum kept it together and asked him

to open his mouth. She decided he needed to be admitted. By that time she had taken my brother with her to Anambra as they were both working there - herself and my father. So she called my father& #39;s cousin to take him to Nnewi teaching hospital. Bless him because he came.

You want to ask does he not have a brother? My dad has a brother but the brother gave my mum the address of a shrine at Oba to take my father there. Well, getting to Nnewi, she spoke with the doctor and they gave my dad hydrocut (don& #39;t know if I spelt it right). Just understand

that my dad was a minute away from stroke. He was placed on bed rest and sleeping pills. My mum shuttled Nnewi teaching hospital and Iyenu. Her fat ass bore the consequences as much as her heart as she was getting smaller buttocks. She prayed. She fasted. I remember one holiday

I came to Anambra and saw her crying in her room. See I was little but I remember. I talked to my mum about two events that I remember from childhood and she told me I was 1 year plus when those events happened. So I remember how my brother looked yellow, how he ate a lot of

fruits, how he ate a plastic bag full of sugar cane, how I didn& #39;t understand fully what was going on, how I wondered how bad things were, how my dad used to trek to church, he normally would drive because mummy said so. I remember how my dad cried when my mum decided no more

hospitals. Prayer houses and churches. And when his blood got short we go refill, back to church. Went to Enugu to see fr. Mbaka, we didn& #39;t see him, we met Fr. Gbuzue and Fr. Mmuoba, Pastor S. O all in Anambra, we visited Mater chapel in Phc. Till finally my mum& #39;s elder sister

told her about a restoration centre in Nkelefi st patrick. Before then, she booked mass in 3 churches. When she finally got to see the woman. The woman prayed for my brother and told my mum "the person fingering your sons life eats with him". My mum didn& #39;t care. She just wanted

my brother to be hale and hearty. "And there is something they have put inside your son, if he gets it out then he& #39;d be fine"
At this point, I need to tell you this is not Iroko TV, African magic, Netflix - it& #39;s my life. It happened to me. It happened to my mum. About my dad...

my mum still managed him, the best way she could and he became well again.
Back to Nkelefi, the woman burst into prayers, singing, wincing and all the other theatrics and finally gave my brother olive oil to drink. My brother drank it and in no minute vomited a butterfly!

The butterfly had a pin on it. Yes, he got well, but not me. I have never forgotten it. Anytime he sleeps in my room, I am scared, if he has malaria, I am praying. My mum finally told my dad everything he cried and called my mum a lion. He cried and apologized for not being

able to deal with the blow for falling ill too. Dad was a town crier. He can cry. Well, years later my father died. Painless but too early. I was 13, my brother 11 and my sister 9.
My mum has kept it together, she has been a gem and anytime I want to relax I just remember I

owe her a vacation from all these stress. Do you know when my dad died, my mum practically lost her mind. She ate filth when no one was looking, refused to take her bath or eat good food, she had stroke at a point... She is fine now. She has been through it all, my mum has.

And people ask me how am I always happy? I don& #39;t know. I only just hope that my star will shine for my mother& #39;s sake. She has counted too much losses from childhood until the day my dad died. Do you want to hear about my dad& #39;s people? Tsk. Another chapter of twists and turns,

of pain and tears and financial coma. My name is MY NAME, my mother is a good woman! And this is not fiction. It is my story!

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