
Fatima left behind her career in London to stand beside her mother fight, and win, her battle with cancer.
When Fatima received the call, it was already past midnight in London. She was working late, as usual — another presentation due, another client pitch to wrap. Her phone buzzed with a message from her younger cousin in Nigeria:
“Aunty hasn’t been well. They think it’s serious. Can you come home?”
Her heart sank.
By the time she boarded a flight to Lagos, the reports had confirmed it — breast cancer, already in an advanced stage. Her mother, Amina, had been hiding the pain for months. She didn’t want to “bother the children” or “interrupt their busy lives.” That was the kind of woman she was — quiet, selfless, fiercely strong.
But now, the strength was fading. Her frame had become frail. Her voice, softer. Still, she smiled when she saw Fatima at the airport. “My love, I knew you’d come.”
Fatima had built a career in finance in London — big firm, big role, big responsibilities. But in that moment, all of it felt so… small. What use was a corner office when your own mother was battling something this terrifying?
She stayed back “just for a few weeks” — but never boarded the return flight.
The local hospital gave them a basic treatment plan. But there were delays. Equipment failures. Limited medications. Fatima could see her mother was not getting the care she deserved. Every day wasted was a risk. And the cancer wasn’t waiting.
She decided they needed to explore options outside Nigeria. But everything felt overwhelming — researching hospitals, understanding treatment protocols, checking costs, logistics, trust. Until, through a friend of a friend, she came across a name: Monk On The Go.
Not a hospital, not a faceless agency — but a team that promised to walk the journey with them.
Her first message was simple: “My mother needs cancer treatment. I need guidance. I need to do this right.”
The reply came within the hour: “We understand. Let’s start with her reports. You’re not alone in this.”
That was all Fatima needed to hear.
What followed was a carefully mapped plan — consultations with oncologists in India, a clear treatment roadmap, cost estimates, and help with every small detail: visas, hospital bookings, accommodation close to the facility, even airport pickup and meals for a caregiver.
They flew to India within 12 days.
The hospital in Chennai felt worlds apart from what they had experienced. The doctors didn’t just explain the treatment, they gave transparency. Amina would need surgery, followed by chemotherapy and radiation. It was going to be hard, but it was possible.
Fatima stayed with her mother through every step, adjusting pillows in the night, cheering her through hair loss, singing old Hausa lullabies during chemo sessions, making her laugh when the days got too dark.
There were moments when Amina wanted to give up. But Fatima would gently hold her hand and say, “Not without you, Mama. We’re going home together.”
And they did.
Four months later, the cancer was gone. The scans were clear. The oncologist smiled and said, “She fought well. But more than that — she was never alone.”
Back in Lagos now, Amina tends to her garden again — her roses are blooming.
Fatima has set up a small consulting practice from home. The city pace doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is morning tea with her mother, walks in the yard, shared silences that say more than words ever could.
She often gets asked if she regrets leaving her high-flying job. Her answer is always the same: “I didn’t lose a career. I am with my mother when she needs me the most.”
Some battles are not won in boardrooms. They’re won in hospital rooms, with love, with courage, and with the quiet conviction that no one you love should ever have to fight alone.
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