My young doctor, Joel, opens the door to his consulting room.  “Hello ma’am,” he says to me.   Above his mask, I notice that his eyes are tired and, being very fond of him, I worry.   I know he is working back-to-back shifts in two hospitals, so to cheer him up  I say, “I can see from your eyes that you’re tired.  Let us exchange chairs.”

The slight lifting of his mask on his face indicates that he is smiling.  His eyes are tired but sincere. I notice that he takes in a deep breath before sitting down, a re-fuelling of energy.

I drop myself into the comfortable brown leather couch and proceed to tell him about a term that I have been mulling over recently—wounded healer.  I have been reflecting on this term because it aptly describes my life and the myriad of responsibilities I deal with.  Single mom. Entrepreneur.  Restaurateur. Creative. Sister. Aunt. Mentor.  The list is endless.

Joel has seen me at least five times since the beginning of the year, with a myriad of complaints including my lack of energy.  After running tests,  he discovered that my iron was low and put me on a blood tonic called Tothema.  I was not surprised by the results;  I do not eat on time, and even when I do, it is not always the right food.  Yet I fuss over the phone at my brother in Atlanta who is diabetic.  Daily I ask my teenage daughter,  “Have you eaten? What will you eat?  Have you taken your Vitamin C?  When did you start coughing?”

I am reminded every evening to take my medicines by a small rectangular basket by my bed.  It  contains prescribed sleeping pills that I refuse to take, painkillers, meds for cholesterol and allergies as well as other medicines that I have taken in the past and cannot even remember what for.

Even today, as I sit in Joel’s office, I did not visit the hospital alone.  Waiting outside to come in right after me is Aunty Sharon.   She is one of my staff members and is married to my cousin.  Sharon has been complaining of shortness of breath and that very morning, when she tried to cross the road in the morning, her ribs felt as if they were locked, and she could only move her legs.   When the nurse takes her blood pressure, I sense that it is high because she repeats the process on Sharon’s other arm.

Joel was surprised when I said I was fine.  I had come to see him to discuss the way forward as  I had decided to be proactive about my health.  I wanted to know if I had to continue with the iron tonic.  He suggested that I continue with the folic acid and take the Tothema every other week.  I’d already resolved to eat well and drink the turkey berry infused water that Aunty Sharon fixes for me as a natural way of boosting my iron.

When my session is over, I open the door to call Aunty Sharon.  She doesn’t mind that I am in the room with her, so I help her explain to Joel what is going on because she speaks the local languages better.  Joel meets her halfway and speaks the local language back.  Her blood pressure, as I suspected, is very high.  Joel asks her to go to the lab for some more tests and to monitor her blood pressure for a week, every morning and evening.  Sharon, I know, is the cornerstone of her family, the main income-earner, the one caring for sick family members.  Although she is a little heavy,  she’s very swift on her feet,  Joel asks her how old she is.  “I am 57,” she says.  Somehow that surprises me.

As we leave, I tell her to take things easy. “I’m glad we came to the doctor,” I said, “But you have to slow down Aunty Sha Sha.”

I was glad I had noticed that she seemed a little off that morning and took the time to ask her what was going on.

I always tell other Moms that if I am okay, I know my daughter will be fine. My sense of well-being and health impacts how well I can parent her.   The society and culture in Ghana make us feel guilty about looking out for ourselves.  We are made to think that if our children and those we care for are okay, we will be fine.  It does not work like that, as I have learnt.  I have discovered the hard way that I have a responsibility to take care of myself and not run myself aground before going to the doctors for help.  So, as we say, I have advised myself.  I have booked  physiotherapy sessions, dietician appointments and  have even spent an hour with a life coach to help me deal with my anxiety and occasional insomnia.  I will be chucking those sleeping pills in the bin soon.  Actually, maybe I’ll chuck them out tonight.

Frank-Maria Andoh was born in Accra. She started writing Christmas plays with her dad’s old typewriter aged 8, and took a long break from writing until 2004 when she was selected to be a part of the Crossing Borders Programme organised by the British Council. Franka took off from then and has under her belt several children books, Koku the Cockerel, Dokono the Donkey, Yum Yum the Bully Boy, The Kente Curtain, The Kente Dress, Kumasi to London and Dear Kweku. With a grant from the Danish Cultural Fund, Franka self-published a collection of short stories, I Have Time and Other Short Stories. This won the Ghana Association of Writers (GAW) – Ama Ata Aidoo Short Story Award. She also published a collection of essays celebrating ten years in the café business titled Still Passionate About Coffee. Her short story, “Mansa,” was featured in the Caine African Writers anthology and translated into Spanish. In 2021, her touching short story, “Twin Butterflies,” was accepted into the ‘Lockdown’ Anthology. Franka won a national award for her handbook for young girls titled Having a Period, Not a Little Girl Anymore. Her gift for creative non-fiction saw her co-author the book Sam with esteemed Member of the Council of State and lawyer, Mr. Sam Okudzeto. Her boutique publishing house Lemontree Publishing has birthed its first book by Franka-Maria entitled Under the Light which will be launched officially in December during the 25th anniversary of her café Josie’s Cuppa Cappuccino listed in 2015 by Ventures Africa as one of the leading café’s in Africa.

Special note on Header image:
The artwork is entitled Sika Futuro, which means Gold Dust, and is a name given to girls from the Ashanti tribe of Ghana. The name itself represents the preciousness of the child to the family.
The artist is Nana Kwesi Agyare and the piece was specifically commissioned by me for my foundation, Most Def Foundation.