Despite being born with Sickle cell and being told time and time again I would not live past a certain age (I am now way pass that age by the way), I always believed deep down in my heart that one day not only will I be married but I’ll also be a mum. I guess you could say I was working in faith without realising it. I got married at the age of 31 – yes, I know later than a lot of my peers, but hey, my hubby is simply the best!
Sixteen months after we got married, I found out I was pregnant. Excited? No, not at all. Imagine finding out you were pregnant one week and by the end of the second week, you had lost the pregnancy. Before the thought could even sink in, the pregnancy was gone. That was exactly my story. I found out I was pregnant, then woke up on Monday morning and noticed I was bleeding. I went to see my GP on Tuesday who advised that based on my health history (no further test was done), all I needed was just a good bed rest. Yours truly was out of work at the time and hubby was working away from home so hey bed rest it was. Before hubby left for work he had told a lovely sister from church (who has since become my adopted sister), I was pregnant. He had also asked if she could kindly keep an eye on me.
I was lying in bed the following morning when she called to see how I was doing. I casually mentioned to her in our conversation that I had been bleeding but the GP advised bed rest so just taking it easy. She insisted I called the early pregnancy unit at the hospital and booked myself in to see a doctor ASAP. I knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer neither was she going to fall for any excuse I tried to give. Lazy morning bubble busted, I reluctantly called the hospital and dragged myself in.
At the hospital, they started doing all sorts of tests and checks. You know you are in big trouble when one person examines you, says nothing, then goes out and comes back with either a colleague or more senior medical personnel. Before I could say “Jack Robinson”, I had everyone from nurse to senior consultants probing me in all sorts ways you can imagine before finally breaking the news to me – “Sorry Ms you are carrying an ectopic pregnancy in your fallopian tube and we have to operate immediately so as to save your life.” My emotions started to run wild! I felt fear, sorrow, anger and pain all at once! I tried to fight back tears while processing what I just heard but the tears just flowed down uncontrollably. I tried hard to convince myself that it wasn’t true. Surely this must be a mistake.
I didn’t realise how much I was screaming and punching my knee until one of the midwives (who happens to be another sister I met in church and a midwife at the hospital) held me down and hugged me tightly. When I finally grabbed a hold of myself I called one of the pastors at church who happens to be a senior consultant gynaecologist but was told by his wife that he was out of town. I then called the pastor who heads the prayer ministry in the church. Although I was part of the prayer ministry, I had no strength to pray, neither did I have the right words to express how I was feeling at the time. I was in desperate need of a miracle. I also managed to call my husband and informed him of what was going on.
The medical team started preparing me for the operating theatre.
All of a sudden my phone wouldn’t stop ringing; it seemed like everyone suddenly remembered I existed and wanted to talk to me at the same time. Why now? I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I reluctantly answered my phone when it wouldn’t stop ringing and realised it was my pastor the senior consultant gynaecologist. His wife had called him and told him that I needed to talk to him urgently. After telling him what was happening, he asked to speak to the consultant in charge of looking after me. They started to speak medical jargon and then he asked the consultant to hand the phone back to me. My heart skipped! Could this be the miracle I was hoping for? Was he about to tell me the doctors had made a big mistake and he had instructed them on what to do?
He gently said to me, “my dear if I was in the doctor’s shoes, I will do the same thing. Your life is more important right now and the operation needs to be done to save it…. It is well with you”. As the theatre nurses came down to wheel me in, my hubby walked in with the pastor in charge of the prayer ministry. They said a quick prayer and I was wheeled away.
By the time I regained consciousness from the anaesthetic it was in the early hours of the morning. The doctors came round to see me. Surely the worst is over, I thought to myself. Then he broke the news to me – “we are really sorry, we tried to do a keyhole surgery but unfortunately, after inserting our cameras we realised that one of your fallopian tubes was about to rupture, so we decided to cut you open and remove it”. At this point, I was too numb to cry or even say a word! Not only have I just lost a child, I have also lost a fallopian tube reducing my chances of having a child even further. Could this really be happening? Is my dream of being called a mum someday just that…A dream!!!