I

The stress and embarrassment I was left with every single time I had an attack was enough experience of a lifetime. It actually tears out a piece of my humanity. No wonder I am more at peace with myself when everywhere is ghost-quiet. But with a trauma like mine, the chance of staying alone is limited. I died over and over again at the loss of breath. The trauma that followed was not as excruciating as the pain of being a walking dead. I was only 12 when I started noticing rigorous symptoms of uncontrollable gasping. Before the whole thing started I remembered having a wierd dream. I couldn't yet comprehend the reason why I found myself running with every strength in me like my entire life depended on it. I ran till I missed a step and fell roughly to the ground, and my eyes opened to reality. That was how I woke up gasping and sweating profusely, it took alot out of Mummy to calm me down that day.

The intensity and the fright that accompanied the dream left a lingering stench, as though I lost a piece of myself there, yet I couldn't get a grip of what to make of it. Ever since then, I still find myself gasping for air whenever I engaged myself in any tedious activity. On disclosing the dream to mum, she panicked, she said it was more of spiritual than physical.

It didn't stop there, I started noticing other strange signs, whenever I tried lifting something heavy I felt the weight in my chest. I thought it was normal for anyone to feel the weight of whatever they're carrying, especially for a heavy load. The persistent signs got me and mum worried when sometimes at the break of day, I would wake up feeling as though a heavy load had been placed on my chest and an invisible arrow piercing through my body. Also, I developed a strange fury welling from within at the slightest provocation like a burning coal has been placed in my chest. The peak of everything was when I tried going out for a morning jogging with my Dad barely five minutes along the line, my chest became too heavy. I felt nauseated and totally weak. Before you could say 'Jack Robinson', I was off. My dad had to rush me back home for fear of the unknown.

After series of X-ray and scannings, I was diagnosed of Acute Asthma, as a result of generic allergies. Seeing the shocking reactions of mummy and daddy at the announcement made me disgusted by whatever it was that the doctor meant. I listened with rapt attention as the doctor mentioned some important things about the condition I found myself.

"She must be shielded from cold, smoke, dust, if possible she should be exempted from sweeping, exercises, and doing strenuous tasks, that is, anything that will stress her. "I heard the doctor say while analyzing my condition.

I could literally see my whole world crumbling as he spoke.Every words hitting me as a sharp sword piercing through my heart. I could not imagine what my life would be like. Even as reality dawned on me that I could not stand all the things he mentioned. Every second ever since, my life has been nothing short of a nightmare always eager to wake up.

II

The bitter look on Dad's face each time I escaped an attack usually throws me off. I heard the screams of pain in his eyes, whenever he looks at me. I knew that was a trace of disappointment looking at the condition at hand. Unlike Mum, Dad doesn't believe in herbal medicine. But one thing he always believes is that, 'Only God can heal and save.' Although he knows he doesn't pray much as he ought to. He strongly believed that God will heal his princess soon.

My younger brother particularly narrated an incident that occurred a certain day I had an attack in the car while my dad was driving us to school. I wasn't quite sure I could recall what really happened as I was mostly unconscious, but I remembered vividly how a certain Road Safety Officer stopped our car, siezed Dad's car keys and was asking Dad series of unnecessary questions. I waited patiently next to the wheel with my brother stealthily playing candy crush game on my Dad's iPhone.

At this point, Dad was more concerned about retrieving his car keys than the long sermon the Road Marshal was preaching. With all the fuss and buss, my dad forgot to raise the glasses of the car exposing me to the polluted air, that could possibly trigger an attack. Funny enough, I wasn't at all worried about all those. I couldn't help myself with the spring of joy, and excitement welling up from within and I amazingly embraced the opportunity to enjoy the mind-blowing fresh air after a long time. To feel the caress of a beautiful weather without fears or worries, watching the sight of various people engrossed in their businesses and the impatient looks of the faces of drivers at the traffic light.

The sudden drowsiness like a battery runs out from hundred to ten in a twinkle of an eye. The uncontrollable gasping and crankiness that followed got me agitated, I knew what was ahead of me. I could literally feel as every effort to take a breath was taking life out of me. By each passing second, I didn't want to admit that this time around it was my fault, as my body became heavy for me to move. I could hardly raise my hand to my brother who was just sitting behind me. Thank God, when I started wheezing a squawky sound in my chest, it made my younger brother sensitive enough to realize I was having an attack. By that time my Dad was already far-fetched in an intense argument with the road safety officer.

My younger brother tried to locate the inhaler but he couldn't find it in my bag, he didn't know whether it was the fear of losing me or the tension arising each minute he hears me wheeze. It was only after we landed at the hospital that he realized that the inhaler had actually been in his pocket all through.

'Daddy it's Sabina, it... It..... has started!' My younger brother exclaimed amidst tears.

It was like an alarm rang in Dad's head, the instant he heard those words, he rushed to the road safety officer, gave him a dirty slap on the main road and snatched his car keys out of his hand. He declared with boiling anger, "if anything happens to my baby girl I will hold you and your entire family responsible."

By the time my dad and brother got to the car, I was already unconscious, bystanders had gathered around, they had unbutton my uniform in order to help me breathe properly and to ease the chest tightness. Sighting me like that enraged Dad the more, as he shouted, "where's the inhaler!"

"I couldn't find it anywhere", My brother cried.

'How could you be so careless with something like this, that inhaler is like her second life, must you children be careless with everything!'

'Dad was really mad, and anything he said at that point made little or no sense to me', my brother narrated, all I wanted was for Sabina to be well again, I didn't even realize when one of her sandals fell off. I barely realized when one of the bystanders stretched out to give me the sandals. I pity for my sister who was lying almost lifeless, trying as hard as she could to stay alive, it grieved me to know that I couldn't help her at this point.

Then Dad remembered the inhaler he keeps in the car for emergencies like this ran out of gas, just the previous day. He ran into the car and we dashed to the nearest hospital. The tension in the car was high because it was as if I was going to die the next minute.

On reaching there daddy called out to the attendant and nurses, 'Emergency! Emergency!! It's an asthma crisis. Please nurse, save my daughter, she's all I've got.'

The nurses looked in awe at the tears now welling up in his eyes. It was absurd to see a man in tears as it was considered a sign of weakness. But at this point, the only thing Dad could think of, was to go on his knees in prayers. He prayed fervently after which he placed a call to my mum. My younger brother said he had never seen daddy cry but that day was his first and hopefully the last. To him, daddy looks adorable in tears although I know he was just being sarcastic.

I was rushed to Accident and Emergency (A and E), ward where immediate nebulizer treatment was administed with the oxygen mask. Before you could say Jack Robinson, I was just alright. As soon as I opened my eyes I requested for my dad. He dashed into the ward as soon as the nurse told him I had regained consciousness and held my hands so tightly expressing a deep sigh of relief on beholding my face. I tried to fake and smile but my facial appearance betrayed me as the oxygen mask was still on my face. He managed to ask 'Are you okay?' I nodded in affirmation.

'Thank God you survived this one, be careful next time. I keep telling you countless times to take your inhaler everywhere you go, we need to stop taking things lightly, I would soon get you a rope that you will tieing the inhaler round your waist'. Mummy stated rather indifferently trying to conceal the her fears on arriving the hospital. I hated myself the for being helpless, imagine if I wasn't with my family members, instead with a hater like mummy Praise, our yoruba neighbor who sighed each time she heard I had an attack, she believes it a sickness for those who had obanje, evil spirits in them. Once I caught her saying, 'people should leave me to my creator.' If he so deem fit, he should just take my life. I thank God such a person is not my mother, she would have definitely killed me with the stress. I considered her my number one frenemy.

III

I felt like a shambles to my parents for being a helpless burden instead of a savoury blessing to their lives. The inept pain they felt each time they had to watch me pass through life and death roll at every single attack makes me feel like a murderer by stealing the joy they are meant to be enjoying. Whenever I see my mates bringing joy and happiness to their parents I felt dying was the best option for me rather than living this life of continual pains and sorrows to my beloved. It was more like I was a misfit. I spend majority of the time sober on my bed rather than in school with my mates. Questioning the very essence of my existence. Each unpredictable moment of my life, I had to learn to live at the mercy of others. I was so drown in self pity that I cared little or less about the giftings of life. I died a million times on that bed just imagining why God would allow such an incurable disease befall me.

I pictured myself dying a thousand times by each attack I went through. I myself didn't see the need to live again, I was exasperated. The very essence of a blissful childhood was cut short for me as I had to avoid many things that are expected of the average child of my age. I was exempted from my normal household chores in my own home let alone in someone else's. I was excluded from going next or near my favorite junction, the kitchen for any reason whatsoever. I wasn't allowed to fry anything or pound pepper. I couldn't even engage in sport activities as it could trigger an attack. A day wouldn't pass by without someone telling me what I ought to take, or do and what not to. I was downcast, helpless and weak.

'Please open your mouth and take this agbo, herbal medicine. I strongly believe this one will work,' Mum pleaded. She so much believes that every sickness has a cure. According to her, 'every medicine in the hospital was originated from herbs, agbo, freely given to us by God, the only difference is just the packaging.' I can't blame her, I for one, have had to take series of inhalers and other bronchial medications, all to no avail. As an African woman that she is, she had to resort to any and every medicine spiritual and herbal could offer for a solution.

'I won't take this, only God knows what was mixed in this so called agbo!' I cried. 'That was what you said the other day we went to a white garment church that the "Man of God" called me an obanje, evil spirit. As if that was not enough, he rebaptized me with anointing oil and mixed holy water and salt, in the name of medicine for me to drink for a whole month. Besides, the all night deliverance prayers we had to attend for three nights. As if all these didn't mean anything to you, you further added salt to my injury, by taking me to a Mallam who gave me a powder substance from only God knows where, to drink with nunu, pure cow milk....' I lamented sickly.

'I will never give you something I'm not sure of the source, these are agbo, herbal medications and possible treatment for this deadly sickness you are forced to bear on your small tender shoulders, my child.' Mummy said softly, 'we are doing all these with faith that it works out as the cure and I will not relent until you are completely whole and well like every normal child of your age'.

I couldn't but give in to her demands. I understood the pain and hurt she was forced to embrace whenever she saw me in that condition and she still has to put up a cheerful face so that we both don't end up breaking down to the detriment of our health. I understood how she felt having to watch her only baby girl grow up with an ailment she was not born with, while, she folded her hands to watch as her mates were enjoying their youthful exuberance. Although I have no inkling of what motherhood entails, but I understand how hurt she must have felt. When other children helped their parents out with household chores she was forced to prevent me from doing these things. Infact I was barely 16 now, but I could see the tears behind her glowing smile, whenever she was alerted by my school teachers that I just had an attack. Looking at the embarrassment, the tension, even the torturous rumours of the neighbors, that accompanied the attack was enough pain in the neck for her.

She would always whisper to me each time she noticed the tears, 'Don't blame yourself. You will be fine. This is just part of your testimony.'

At this point suicide was more appealing to me than eating. I thought I was better off dead than living. I felt like mummy and daddy should have given up on me, I am undeserving of all the love and attention that I received. I couldn't bear the feelings any longer, I knew I wasn't strong enough for all these I had completely lost faith in life, nothing made sense anymore. Not untill a neighbor Mrs Johnson, came over to the house telling my mom how a friend of hers died of asthma crisis the previous month. And how her grandmother suffered the same trauma for 15 solid years till she outgrew it. I didn't really get the full gist of it but I heard a statement from her that changed my entire mindset about everything.

She said, 'your daughter is no better than those who are dying daily of an asthma attack but she is still living strong and surviving every single attack victoriously, so we should take pride that she will one day conquer, or possibly outgrow it.' This statement opened my eyes to the reality that there are alot more people who are suffering from this same trauma and even worse. It somehow closed my ears to the ringing insults and the pains I felt and helped me feel fortunate to live the moment. It also help me look beyond myself. From then, I made a solemn decision to always be grateful for each passing second. I learnt to take each day as it comes, enjoy every moment, with the understanding that it might just be my last. I tried as much as possible to be happy and put smiles on the faces of the people me around especially my parents. I never wanted them to feel bitter about my predicament even though it was inevitable.

IV

I was about twenty years old now with no sign of improvement. I held strong to my convictions that I will be victorious someday. When a childhood friend of mine, Solomon started talking to me about a prayer meeting he attends every Saturday by 12pm. There was this particular glowing look on his face anytime he returns from the meeting that made me curious. He gave me a special invitation although I was sceptical about it I felt honored to be informed. I didn't bother telling my mom or dad about it, as Roman Catholics I wasn't expecting a Yes for an answer, so I didn't bother. When I finally received a call from Him to find out if I would still make it for the prayers, I still wasn't sure even by 11pm if I would go or not. Then a song kept on ringing through my mind, "Something more than Gold," by popular artist Judikay. This part kept popping up in my heart, '....as the deer panthers for water so my soul longs for you, forever and ever, yes my heart beats for you. Something more than....' till I finally raced joyfully to the church venue.

On reaching the church, the prayers had just begun with not many youngster. There was something insanely striking about these youngsters. It was when the bomb, the one holding the microphone started leading the prayers that I realized why these youngsters were exceptional. They prayed in an unknown tongues as though the whole world depended on it. Then I realized I knew little or nothing about prayers. I struggled to pray, I located a corner, went on my knees and poured my heart to God, I said, 'Lord, please help me, please come to my rescue.'

I was determined in my heart and soul that I will not leave that venue the way I came. The tables turned entirely when the next Man of God took over. Immediately he saw me, he said "Do you think we are here to joke?" Come, he signaled me out. It seems you think we are here to joke but in the presence of God, no jokes. God will have mercy on you today, then he blasted in a strange language with all seriousness.

I couldn't explain why I felt a heavy burden on my chest. I just couldn't help the rivers of water that was welling in my eyes. I cried uncontrollably, I couldn't care less about the people or what they were doing anymore, I was more concerned about crying out this burden. I cried the more realizing that if God doesn't come to my help that would be the end of my life, I cried to free myself and my heart from every disappointment I feel in myself. With the mindset that maybe God could rescue me if I cried. When I was done crying out my heart, he was still ministering. He was talking to other people about their problems, Then he returned to me, he said he sees an unclean spirit in me, I was broken apart. That moment it dawn on me how much I needed God to reach out to me. Then the Man of God said a word of prayer upon my life, He said, in the name of Jesus you are free from every limitations and stagnation. That instance I fell to the ground, I tried getting to my feet but I felt like as hot coal has been placed on my legs I couldn't stand properly. I jumped and limbed in bewilderment as every eyes were on me to see the cause of the reactions but nothing, they was no physical explanation whatsoever to what was going on with me. Then he said 'out of thy belly shall flow rivers of living water.'

At that moment I felt a tap released in my stomach and water gushing out within me. I couldn't help but shout as though the shouting was an ease to the immeasurable rush in my stomach. It continued like that until I finally received an infilling of the holy spirit with the evidence of praying in tongues. That day marked another drastic turn around. I could feel the wave of fire surging up in my bones.