A first-time mother recalls the eventful journey of daughter’s birth

It is six months already! Six months since that beautiful morning when I was wheeled into theatre with tears in my eyes and a prayer in my heart.

Six months since I lay on that cold bed (why are theatres so cold?) and recited Psalms 23 just before the anaesthetist knocked me out!

Six months ago, I walked into hospital a pregnant woman, and one day later, I was a mother. That morning was a concoction of emotion: tears, pain, in-explainable anxiety and finally expressible joy.

There was also a tinge of disappointment. You see, I had done all I could to make sure I got my baby the normal way. I exercised a lot, I walked daily, I drank gallons of water, I tried to keep fit and to eat less salt; this was the hardest of all, since I am a ‘salt-holic’. 

When my scan showed my baby was getting tired, I was so scared. The night before we went to hospital, I sat at the balcony and cried a river! I just felt like I had somewhat failed my baby. I was admitted to hospital the following day so that labour could be induced. 

SCARY STORIES

I had heard scary stories about induced labour. Horrific images were painted in my mind, especially because the pain described sounded like it could kill you!

The inducing process started, and I waited for the pain of the century, but nothing happened! The doctor pumped more drugs into my system intravenously, but again, nothing happened! I still think they were giving me Sprite! 

More than 24 hours later, I was still waiting for the said pain; I think it didn’t get the memo.

I was frustrated beyond description. I guess when your mind is made up and you are anticipating something as glorious as a baby, even the absence of pain is not a relief, it’s a disappointment!

I cried my heart out again, cried because I couldn’t feel the pain that was to usher my bundle of joy into this world.

On the morning of the caesarean section, everything seemed normal; until the nurse showed up to check for the baby’s heartbeat and found it missing! Missing?

What? If we were talking about a bunch of keys or even a cell phone, I would understand. But a heartbeat, my baby’s heartbeat was missing!

Where The Hague was it? Just like that, a simple exercise turned into an emergency! The nurses were now running in panic, trying to reach the theatre in the shortest time possible. I just wanted them to give me a knife; I would have removed her myself! 

That seconds-long trip to the theatre was the longest journey I have ever travelled. I cried all the way there, praying for the slightest movement that would tell me that my baby was going to be fine.

I slipped into unconsciousness as I recited Psalms 23, but this time it wasn’t for me. It was for the tiny soul inside my belly, whose heart was already giving up, yet she hadn’t even seen the light of day.

I woke up with only one question in my mind; is my baby okay? They assured me she was, but I was not relieved until I saw her.

As much as I did not have the strength to hold her, I tried to put her tiny hands into mine. We had travelled the road to delivery, and we were both alive! 

It was two weeks before Christmas and we couldn’t think of a better gift. We called her Zawadi!