When I was 8 weeks pregnant almost three years ago, I started spotting and cramping. Anyone who’s been pregnant before knows that it’s a bad sign. Fear immediately gripped me. My heart rate was suddenly 200 per minute – I think. I tried to calm myself down with slow deep breaths. I tried to convince myself that it was nothing. My husband tried to calm me down. ‘Lala, don’t worry. You’re okay’, he said. How couldn’t I worry? This experience was all too familiar. The memory of an intense, excruciating and fruitless labour brought tears to my eyes.
At the hospital, the sonographer moved her gadget over my gel-lathered tummy forward, backward, sideways, upwards, downwards, inwards…. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked. I was distracted with trying to read her facial expression to answer immediately. I was looking for a sign, a smile perhaps – something positive to give me hope.
‘You see this?’ she asked with a serious expression. I started to think the worst. With my heart pounding, I leaned over to look at the screen. I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. (Truth be told if I’m not looking at a big head with grown legs and arms, I can barely ever make out anything on that screen).
She pointed and said ‘These are contractions. It’s a threatening miscarriage.’
‘What does that mean?’ I whispered. I knew what it meant. I just didn’t want to believe it.
‘It means you need to see your doctor immediately,’ she responded.
‘But the baby’s heart is beating, right?’ My voice was shaking.
That’s all I needed to hear. I knew immediately that this was not a battle I would fight in the flesh.
Fast forward, exactly two years ago, on 31st July 2019, I woke up with painless but frequent contractions. I knew it was time. I got ready, woke my husband up and told him we needed to go to the hospital immediately.
When we got to the hospital, I was wheeled straight onto delivery floor. The midwife on duty asked me to ‘rest’ in one of the rooms – this is where expectant mothers wait as their labour progresses until it’s time to deliver. I told her there was no time for that because my baby was ready to come out. ‘Are you sure?’ she didn’t believe me and I understood why. She didn’t expect me to be composed. Three years before that when I was having my first child, it was a totally different scenario. I think I even spoke in unknown languages to manage the pain at the time.
This time, it was different. I had prayed for a quick delivery and it was happening. The midwife agreed to examine me in the delivery room. She didn’t give me any feedback, but I could see her panicking to get all the requirements in order.
‘Your doctor won’t make it here in time, but we have a resident gynaecologist who will deliver the baby.’
Within minutes, the doctor was in the room and a few more minutes after that my little warrior was born.
I named him Kenaniah (Ken-ah-na-yah) meaning ‘God has established’ and his daddy named him Musinguzi meaning ‘victor/warrior’. Thank you Lord for our precious little one! Happy 2nd birthday my Kenaniah. Daddy, Eze and I love you. X