Some painful things you just block away subconsciously because your mind finds it hard to deal with. But sometimes they come flooding back.
I remember when I went for the first scan for my pregnancy, I was maybe 10 or so weeks pregnant. The scan saw a gestational sac, that is the bag of water where the baby stays in the womb, but could not detect any heartbeat. The conclusion was that I had a blighted ovum. (This happens when fertilisation of the sperm and ovum actually occurs but the result does not form properly. A kind of false conception.) I was partly sad and partly relieved. I wondered if I could not have a child, and if I did anything to cause this one from developing properly. Anyway, I was sent away and asked to come for another scan in about two weeks or so (I can’t quite remember now). As God would have it, a few days later, I began bleeding. I rushed to the doctor and was sent for another scan and there they saw a healthy, happy overactive embryo, happily swimming away. That day was the first in a series of close calls in relation to my pregnancy but God saw the lil un safely through.
Another thing I remember was the delivery itself. Like I said in earlier posts, it was a 12 hour labour. And looking back now I remember the pain I was in- terrible pain, especially in the last few hours. I had several medical personnel around me but my mum who waited outside all through was not allowed in. I remember begging the doctor to hold my hand at some point, begging for some kind words... they were mostly just screaming at me. When the baby came out, her head tore my vagina quite a bit, and as if that was not enough, the placenta was stuck. They had to manually evacuate it and in English that meant putting their hand into my very sore and bleeding vagina, down to my even sorer womb and sweep through. Only a woman that has given birth will understand the pain. I screamed ! They had to give me anaesthesia to put me to sleep. I woke up to find them trying to stitch my torn vagina-without anaesthetics. Again that was hell and I couldn’t stand it. As a matter of fact I woke up to the pain of stitching and the doctor was saying ‘stay still’, stay still’. Apparently in my grogginess I had been speaking a lot and that was also irritating him because he told me to ‘shuttup’ as well. Things came to a head when he slapped me twice really hard on my thighs when I shifted them in pain. He complained that he was spending so much time with one patient when he should have been done with several. I remember begging them to give me local anaesthesia - injections on the site to deaden the site- that I would pay. But what did I expect? I was in a public hospital afterall. The pain was terrible, even for about 2 months afterwards. And to think that this baby had/has a father.
(But when I look at my lovely, happy daughter, it’s all worth it. No one can ask for a better child- honestly. And NO, I wont beat her when she is rude to me because of what I went through when I gave birth to her. Having her was not her decision- it was purely mine. She didn’t ask to be born and I refuse to raise her with that burden of misplaced guilt hanging over her head. She needs to be polite because it is the right thing to do.)
Finally, I remember the people that stood by me through this trying time, 2 friends I barely even knew, my mother and my brother. I remember tonight that I have to be grateful to them. I had no-one else.