Dr.R (MD)

09/07/2025

The Blues
By Rhoda Peter
9/7/25

Baby, I see you

The midnight squabbles, the loud screams
Echoes still ringing in her ears;
Her once quiet life
Now a nightmare,
Because of a tiny creature
She couldn't love.

This time, she had planned it well
To sniff the life out of her
Why?
Her husband had complained again
Told her mother,
“She refuses to breastfeed the baby.”

She stared at her engorged breasts,tender;
Ni***es raw and sore,
She hated the feeling
Hated the way her hourglass figure now sagged with silent shame.

Her husband called her selfish
He was tired of her excesses
He threatened to send her away
If she didn’t change;
But she was lost
And didn’t care anymore.

Life had lost its meaning
If she couldn’t kill the baby
She’d take her own
She waited for night to sweep through the house
For everyone to sleep
Especially the tiny creature
Whose cries she now dreaded

No one sees me
She whispered,as the knife kissed her wrist
And just before it drew blood
A voice came through
'Baby, I see you!'

With steady hands,he wrapped the knife away
Tears mixing with sweat,
She collapsed in his arms
Minutes later, they were in the ER

Once stable,the doctor turned
with eyes fixed on the husband,
he said
It's the Blues
Depression
It happens to some women
Who’ve just given birth

It’s real
And the signs
Your wife showed them all
But no one listened

Now the world must know
Postpartum depression is real
And those who suffer
Need urgent help
Not judgment

Baby, I see you




with Dr.R

08/07/2025

The Broken Hallelujah

By Rhoda Peter
6/7/25
(Inspired by the film Broken Hallelujah by Bimbo Ademoye


This time, on Male Infertility
Men too.
I declare
No womb is barren here.
And the congregation there
Said a resounding Amen.
But the call to fruitfulness
Was aimed at the womb to bear
While in the shadows, he bore the crack in his palms
Scars from cold wars with the world.

When will the hallelujahs
Be shared with men
Men who also await deliverance
From chains of infertility
Yet chants rise only for women in their prime
Whose pain gave way to light
And parted mouths sang praise.

Men are left in silence
Fighting unseen foes
With broken emotions too scared to scream
Not for sin, but for an accident
That stripped his pride
A condition not of his making
But his burden to carry.

Men cry too
Men are broken too
And infertility is not a woman’s cross alone
In fact
The longer the delay
The more likely the factor
Is male.

So when you pray for the fruit of the womb
Do not single out the woman
Pray for the man too
Let him be seen
Lifted, included
He too longs
For a miracle.

Let men seek medical help
Walk beside your partner
And work things out
The burrows of delay
Bear more than female footprints
They carry bold strikes
From men too.

Male infertility is real
It carries its own pain
Its own silence
Its own grief
There is no fear too deep to speak
And when both seek help
Miracles happen.
Men too!





Dr.R (MD)

07/07/2025

The Flush
By Rhoda Peter
6/7/25
(Dedicated to women having a hard time going through menopause)

Oh gosh the Flush!
It’s so hot in here,
Despite the lush.
I get the hots,
But this time in my pot!
Oh no! It’s lost the grease
Since the lease a few months unnoticed, came my way.

It started like a flare, a scare;
A flicker of flame that looked so lame.
Because here I was, thinking fifty
Had to be thrifty for thirty to look fifty.

But I was so wrong, I became so drunk

Scratches. Deep-seated scratches.
The shrinks, the drinks!
I screamed and didn’t know what screeched.
“Oh God, it can’t be!”
The doctor, just in time,
Echoed, “It can be.”

What of the dryness down there?
I don’t want that.
Could it be disease?
“That too, is a symptom,” he said,
“But let’s get you checked and cleared
To have a sweet ride through menopause.”

But I want to stay plump, young, and bubbly.
“Dear Doc, don’t mention menopause again.”
“Mrs. U, don’t fret,” he smiled.
“It’s something you gotta enjoy.
You can still feel young and feel alive!

Stay hydrated, your skin and cells will thank you.
Eat healthy, think leafy greens, calcium-rich, low-sugar meals.
Keep moving, walk, dance, stretch, motion brings strength.
Manage stress, breathe, journal, talk about it, love yourself and rest.
And remember, visit your doctor regularly, knowledge empowers peace.

You're not alone so, breathe easy.
Stand tall and hold your fan like a crown.
You’re not losing your glow,
You’re gaining your power.

26/06/2025

You were served
By Rhoda Peter
(A POEM WRITTEN FOR WORLD DRUG ABUSE AWARENESS DAY-26/5/25)

First
They serve you.
It works like magic.
An aphrodisiac.
You’re astonished.

They serve you some more
It works like crazy.
A pain reliever.
You feel relieved.
Maybe even healed.

They serve you again
This time, it works like speed.
You’re awake.
Alive.
Ecstatic.

They say,
“It takes a long time to get addicted.”
That it’s a chronic process.
And yes ,It takes time.
But there’s dosing,
There’s a threshold,
There are individual differences.

Sometimes,
You even need one drug to withdraw from another
Just to find balance,
Just to feel normal again.
But whatever the reason
Learn to say no to drug abuse.

Be it for a good cause or a bad one,
Stand your ground.
Even in the medical field
where drugs are meant to serve,
to save,to soothe
If the server is not mindful,
The full mind may play tricks on you.

Because when they stop serving you,
You start serving yourself.
And that’s where the line blurs,
That’s where the danger starts,
That’s where the fall begins.

Some thrombose their veins,
Some overdose,
Some cause damage far beyond repair.
And in a blink,the mysterious happens
A seizure, A coma,A death.
All because you were served.
The truth?It usually starts with just
a little serving.

21/06/2025

TO THE ONES WHO WISH THEY COULD
By Rhoda Peter
14/6/2025
(FOR WORLD DONOR DAY)

Some fill the form,
Sit in the chair,
Hopeful that this time,
They’ll make it there.

But then comes the check
“You’re at 29.”
Not today.
“Stay safe. You’ll be fine.”

So they smile,
Stand,
And walk away,
Wishing they could give
What keeps them alive each day.

Living with Sickle Cell is not easy.
It takes courage to receive
Again and again.

It takes a lot to give blood.
It takes just as much to need it.

Whether you live with Sickle Cell,
Recover from postpartum loss,
Or carry illness no one sees
Each pint of blood is borrowed strength.
A quiet mercy.
A second chance.

To the givers,
And to the ones who wish they could
We see you.
We need you.
We honor you.

The End.

31/05/2025

May it Out
21/5/25
By Rhoda Peter
(Mental Health Awareness Month)
How many are really mentally aware?
Mention “mental health”
and the room shifts with
a sudden disdain,
as though you’re wishing madness on someone.

Mental health is not some distant thing and doesn't translate to madness.
Your daily hustle,the chase,the grind
can wear you thin.

Underachievement,not measuring up,
that sinking feeling of being less.
The rejections,the “almosts,”the doors slammed too many times to count.
Chronic illness cloaked in gloom,
trauma lighting quiet fires in the corners of your room.

These things don’t just stay in your head.
They press your chest,
slow your healing,
dull your light.
Even drug resistance
yes, that too
can grow stronger
when your spirit grows weak.

The time to speak is now.
To structure.
To soften.
To open space.
To breathe.

So if you can’t anymore
don’t push.
Pause.
Don’t kill your cells just to keep up.
Rest,
heal,
find your glow again.
Do what steadies your soul.
Be with people who see you.
Stay where you feel safe.
Seek professional help.

Because to pour into others,
you must not be empty.
And if all ends, remember this
the world will still be fine,
without you in it.

The End!

#

28/05/2025

She Wept

By Rhoda Peter
28/5/25
(The struggle of the menstrual journey)

That first day she looked forward to
They called it menarche.
She wept long hours
For pain that came with only a spot
That was the last she saw until it became a worry.

For something she coveted
Anxieties from delay,
Yearning jealously as her peers flaunted
Both used and unused pads
Like they were trophies of becoming.

Her struggle was real.
They said to her mother, “Likely PCOS.”
"What is PCOS, Mother?"
She asked, lip trembling, voice low.
"Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome," her mother replied
A mouthful,a mystery,a weight!

With a whimper, because it was scary,
Her mother tried to explain the doctor’s words, then comfort:
"It’s treatable, my child."

Months passed.
Pads were bought in faith.
Prayers spoken aloud.
Then, miraculously her period came.

Still on hormonal medications,
She bore side effects
That dimmed her inner light
A pain none of her mates could see.

The stigma of late bloomers
Clung to her.
"Your journey is different," she was told.
"So is everyone else's."

At twenty-one,
Her me**es became painful but heavy.
She was excited; it felt like progress.
But it became persistent.
She went back for checks
Another blow:Fibroid?How?

They were tiny,
She was told.
"Don’t feed them."
But how do you stop feeding
What grows quietly inside?

At twenty-five
Hormonal imbalance.
Heavy menstrual flow.
Pain.
Discomfort.
She didn’t understand.

So she asked:
"Doctor, is it possible for someone on PCOS treatment
to grow fibroids this big?"

From 5cm to 17cm
In just four years.
She looked like she carried a child
At twenty weeks gestation.

She wept and wept,
Knowing nothing but tears
For a battle she never chose
Just the cost of
Being called
A WOMAN.

No girl's journey is the same
Today, we pause to recognize the physical, emotional, and social battles tied to menstrual and reproductive health.
Too many girls and women suffer in silence.
This is one of their stories.

The End!

The Struggle of Menstrual Challenges for every woman out there whether you're a warrior or not, is real and on this world menstrual hygiene day ,let's highlight a few of them through this poem.

21/05/2025

For the Common Man
By Rhoda Peter
21/5/25
(As an advocate for sickle cell,this is personal)

A young man walked into the road
Not for a stroll, but to surrender.
HB of 3,
Hope leaking like blood through cracked palms.
He said, “Let the bus take me
Life has already left.”
But we pulled him back.
With pleas. With prayer.
With blood that cost more calls than coin.
Still, he asked,
“Why fight to live when every day feels like dying?”

And a boy waits
In Bokkos,
Where the air is thick with silence,
And prayers aren't for healing,
But for his breath to cease.
A mother, worn and weeping,
Tired of the bleeding,
Prays for an ending she can no longer delay.
What does hope sound like
When your own roof whispers defeat?

Yet they say,
“There’s a cure.”
America.
UK.
Gene therapy.
Bone marrow.
Fly out. Fix it.

But where is the place of the girl in Ikot Ekpene?
The boy in the village whose dreams can’t cross borders?

They say,
“Just know your genotype.”
But who tells the girl married off at 14,
Before she learns to ask,
“What’s AS? What’s AA?”

Sickle cell is curable
Yes, for those who can fly.
But what about the common man?
The girl in the village?
The boy whose meals come in halves?

The cure is coming
But awareness must come first.
Because in our rural communities,
Where wallets are thin and hope is fragile,
Prevention is still the gold standard.

Dear world,
Dear doctors, leaders, changemakers
Stop handing out miracles wrapped in dollars
To those counting coins to survive.

Let’s give what is possible:
Truth.
Access.
Compassion.
Let’s sing songs of prevention,
Of policy. Of purpose.
Of awareness,still the gold standard.

Because a cure means nothing
If the present is killing them.
And we, the ones who know better,
Must do better
Not with pity,
But with presence.
Not with promises,
But with power for the people.
The End!

20/05/2025

To watch the full video,
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMSNhYe22/

A Battle Unseen
BY RHODA PETER

The news came suddenly, harshly, and clearly,
An aunty’s fight with a foe so near.
No family history to guide the way,
Yet cancer chose her, in silence to stay.

A word so cold, invasive, it spread,
Leaving hearts heavy, filled with dread.
The unimaginable, the uninvited guest,
A cruel reminder that no one’s exempt from the test.

Cancer, a shadow that casts its fear,
Unknowing whose door it will appear.
It waits, it watches, with patient eyes,
Until it strikes, no one can disguise.

We must act, for action is now,
For those who fight and families who bow.
Awareness, hope, and prayers we send,
To every survivor, every caregiver, every friend.

For each patient, each battle fought,
You are the warriors, you’ve never been caught.
May strength surround you, courage ignite,
In the darkest of days, we’ll help you fight.

The End!





Dr.R

Check out I pray you Heal by Dr.R’s video.

09/05/2025

We cooked something,it's done now and ready to be eaten. Let’s head over to tiktok for the feast,Thank you.
https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMS12fupQ/