My Longcall Abortion

Here I was, lying in bed, thinking. What was I thinking about you ask? My unborn child.

It had been 11 weeks since my heart stopped beating after seeing those 2 lines streaked on the pregnancy test kit. To say I had been overwhelmed would be an understatement. The wave of emotions I felt in that minute that felt infinite must not have a term coined for them yet. It’s indescribable.

Pregnancy scares are so common that at some point methinks we deem it a positive pregnancy test near impossible. Yet here I was. 22, clueless on motherhood and pregnant. I did not have the luxury of supportive parents in fact, they chastened me when I opened up to me and straight up decided to leave me on my own. My so-called partner was in the wind.

Life has a wicked sense of humor indeed.

Like any other young pregnant female I had contemplated an abortion more than once. The days when the mornings were unbearable and the loneliness crushing. When school seemed like the least of my worries – I was going to be responsible for a human being for God’s sake! Lectures drifted through with me in a daze and in my mind a bleak future awaited for me. I had not the first clue on how I was going to raise this baby when it finally arrived but I chose my misery to be my consolation at that moment and it worked.

I remember waking up that morning groggy and pressed. I strolled to the ladies half awake. I had been constipated lately. Like everyone else, I tried to take upto 8 glasses a day but no, my bowels had a different story they wanted to tell. As I squat and hoped the constipation was gone, I felt a sudden lightness in my abdomen and something gushing out of me that didn’t feel like poop. I looked down instantly and almost fainted at what I saw. It was a fetus. My fetus. My baby. So tiny and gory. Had I just had a spontaneous abortion during a long call?! In that moment my constipation was the least of my worries. I rushed out of the loo the only thing on my mind being the hospital.

“Yours is a classic case of cervical incompetence,” the doctor said after all the investigations had been done.

“cervical what now?” I stuttered.

Cervical incompetence.

“What you need is a cervical cerclage operation in your subsequent pregnancies to avoid losing your pregnancy again,” he added.

When I heard surgery, my head began spinning. Was I going to die?

No need to worry. It’s a minor surgery and it will be over before you know it.” he said confidently which make my heart beat less faster.

Part of me felt relived having lost the impending responsibility but part of me wondered why what came natural to most women wasn’t so for me.

Was my body broken? Is what kept on ringing in my mind as I left the hospital. Was I ready to go back to the life before what I’d known the past 2 months? There was only one way to find out.

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Can you cheat death?

Have you ever been the bearer of bad news? No, terrible news?

Are you one of those shoot the messenger kind of persons? Well, then imagine how hard it is for the bearer of the news especially when the message is life changing. Tell me, how do you look at a terminally ill patients’ family and deliver the news when they ask you, “Daktari, kwa nini hii ugonjwa haiponi na amekuwa akishinda hospitali?” Tell me, do you go have a glass of water first, wipe and imaginary beard of sweat from your forehead or do you rehearse in from on the mirror first putting on you most grave facial expression just to gain the confidence to deliver the news and an empathetic expression to comfort them? What do you do when the mother breaks into a wail and starts tugging at her shawl and her hands quickly find the back of her head as she calls the names of her ancestors? Do you stand there awkwardly and ask them whether they have any more questions or clarification or do you silently weep with them? One doctor once told me that contrary to popular belief, one never gets used to death. Not even morgue attendants. Not even brushing shoulders with loss hardens you enough to eliminate the despair and exasperation that comes with losing a life, even worse, a loved one. If you’re a doctor you sleep wondering what could have been done differently or what could hare been detected early enough to evade the tragedy.

It changes you.

And what about the patient? Do you tell them that you only live once could never hit closer to home? Or do you stare at their eager, expectant eyes, bite the inside of your tongue and utter I’m sorry then follow it up with the dreaded but?

Isn’t it dreadful? To be the one to let a human being know that there’s no further hope for them save for enjoying the taste of air while their lungs can still allow them?

Which reminds of one of my favorite books that has a similar storyline and moved me tears and desperation where the author, Paul Kalanithi says that “Even if I’m dying, until I actually die, I’m still living. “

Of silent hospital hallways


The pin drop silence in a hospital hallway makes your mind wander. A number of strangers,  seated in deafening silence,  some typing away on their phones furiously with questioning gazes at whoever dares to have a peek at their screen. Some staring into space,  lost,  maybe praying for a miracle. Some perhaps debating on whether to wait out the queue or just  come back later. The later that never comes.  It is a scary experience,  this one. 

The person on your left could be fighting off the urge to scream in pain and you’ll never know. They could be seconds away from passing out cold and you’d never be able to tell. Some, could be worried sick, hoping that the doctor’s assessment won’t be as life changing as they fear it will be. Praying for a happy ending is what we do behind our screens and behind the slight fidgeting of our feet. 

Indeed, hospital hallways have heard more prayers than the walls of a church.