Ifeoma Ifejika is an ambassador of hope and peace. A lady with a large heart that inspires everyone that comes in contact with her.
As a person with sickle cell disorder, she has dedicated herself to spreading hope, peace of mind and joy by sharing the story of her journey which spans well over five decades.
She has a B.Sc Marketing and Diploma, Interior Design from University of Science and Technology, PH and National Design Academy, Nottingham, UK respectively.
Ifeoma lives in Port Harcourt, Nigeria with her family.
Surviving the Pain, Trauma and Despair of Sickle Cell Anaemia
Ifeoma Christine Ifejika
Phoenix Rising.
Surviving the Pain, Trauma, and Despair of Sickle Cell Anaemia.
Copyright © 2025 Ifeoma Christine Ifejika
First Edition
Published in 2025
by OdemBooks
odembooks@gmail.com
Editing and Design by OdemBooks
Cover by OdemBooks
Front Cover Images adapted from Ifeoma Ifejika's archives. Printed in Nigeria.
ISBNs
Hardback: 978-978-696-189-7
Paperback: 978-978-696-190-3
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, incuding photocopying, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, apart from use in excerpts, without permission in writing from the author, or the publisher.
Contact SCIMA at +234 816 740 7831
Mama Nnukwu's room and the children's room were next to each other. The only way to her room was through a door at the end of the children's room where I lay. I stirred when Mama Nnukwu eased my head onto the pillow but decided to lie still so as not to trigger any pain. With the connecting door slightly ajar, I overheard the intimate talk between my mother and grandmother; every single word that was spoken.
My nine-year-old mind could not process everything I heard - sickle cell anaemia, death, Uncle Isaac, etc. These three things kept popping up in my head, followed by very disturbing questions: Was I going to die? Is death the reason for the intense painnof the past few months? Is death this painful, or is my own death the only painful one? Uncle died at fourteen years of age. Will I die at the same age, and if yes, does it mean I will continue to suffer this pain till then? I started sobbing silently from the weight of what I heard and from confusion.
My perception of life became further altered after that incident. The fear of dying I had been living with since that fateful day I eavesdropped on the conversation between my mother and Mama Nnukwu about my uncle, who died at age 14 from sickle cell anaemia, became an unascertained 'truth' that my life was a time bomb ticking away. It did not matter that I survived my 14th birthday and was still alive at almost 16 years of age. This unascertained 'truth' plagued me for a good number of years. It got worse when I got admission into the Rivers State University of Science and Technology (RSUST) for a diploma in secretarial administration the next year without completing the two years of high school. The 14-year death date was replaced with 18 years and, beyond that, 21 years.
I contemplated taking a shower after undressing but decided against it. I did not feel like doing anything other than sit by the window and stare at the world. I recognized the signd of downward slide into mild depression and chided myself to snap out of it. I tried to distract myself with the television and gave up after staring at the screen without concentration. I was gradually slipping back into the era when I allowed sickle cell anaemia to control me and determine my mood. Hearing the pain and desolation in that young man's voice earlier that day, completely turned my mood around negatively. I have had a running battle with setting boundaries on my feelings of empathy, which walking in the shoes of the warriors I counsel expose me to.
I reflected on unkind words, actions, and stigmatization of my past as wells of experiences to draw from, serving as the fulcrum of my destiny to spread messages of hope to the hopeless and give them reasons to smile. I was able to see those who were nice to me as blessings and those who were nasty to me as lessons. I appreciated God more for both my blessings and lessons. I appreciated God more for both my blessings and my lessons but most importantly for His countless consolations through the lessons, which the dropping of the scales of self-pity from my eyes allowed me to identify.
I spend more time looking for the silver lining in the dark cloud than staring at the dark cloud in abject submission, and I recognize and appreciate even the tiniest good. This shift in paradigm did not take place in an instant. It started with a conviction that something was not right. It progressed to a decision to seek answers with an open mind and a belief that the answers were out there and needed time and effort for me to identify them.
My faith guided me to the answers, and though it has been decades and counting, I am still discovering more answers. It is becoming easier by the day for me to practice the attitudes of gratitude and positive thinking. I have learned to shift my focus from the size of the storms that assail me from time to time, to the size of my GOD, who can calm any storm and lead me to the safety of the shore with lessons from the experience.
From the moment my friend Eileen introduced me to her mother, I knew Aunt Montelle was extraordinary. She was soft-spoken, loving, and instantly adopted me as one of her own. This love offten manifested during my most challenging times. During one particularly prolonged crisis that kept me in the hospital for over two weeks, Aunt Montelle frequently visited with baskets of fruit or light meals. Strangely, even when I had no appetite, I found myself eating whatever she brought with relish.
On one such visit, she picked up my medical chart hanging at the foot of my bed. As a nurse, she studied it
Ms Ifejika writes well, and ultimately, her story is not one of sorrow but of triumph against all odds. Phoenix Rising is a must-read.
Peter Ntephe, PhD
Joy is still possible, scars can be sacred, and reslience, especially in the hands of a woman who refuses to give up, is revolutionary.
Aya Fubara Eneli, Esp.
Our upgraded Mama Nnukwu started SCIMA as a way of reaching out to so many others through her NGO. I salute your courage Ifeoma aka Liquid.
Fr. Steve Ziga Dedua
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