My son and daughter looked at me like they were watching their daddy die, and I guess they were.
My 6yr old daughter held my hands, looked me in the eye and said – Daddy please don’t die…
The blinding, fluorescent lights buzzed over my head, and my nostrils filled with that bleach hospital smell, overpowering me in the cramped, chilly room.
My wife squeezed my hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No,” she cried. “He can’t live the rest of his life in a wheelchair.”
“Without the amputation,” the doctor told me, “you’ll be dead within a year.”
I couldn’t believe it…
But 4 years ago, the doctors wanted to put me under anesthesia, and cut off my legs… leaving nothing but worthless stumps.
All because I was one of 70 million Nigerians with pre-diabetes or diabetes…
…the disease that ran rampant through my body, thrashing the blood vessels in my limbs, until it practically cut off the circulation to my legs.
The doctor made it clear that if he didn’t amputate, that …my legs would rotten like spoiled meat.
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