Eh yah ~ conclusion ~

Day one 

A tablet was inserted into my "wetin call" to induce labour in some minutes but after over thirty minutes nothing happened.

The nurses came back to insert not just one more tablet but two. I was supposed to be screaming in labour pains in seconds but that did not happen.

Day two

More insertions and swallowing of tablets yet nothing. Then the intravenous line was set to give more drugs to induce labour. The dead foetus loved my womb and vehemently refused to disengage.

At this time, I knew that it was more serious than I thought. I intensified my prayers. What else was I to do? It was entirely up to God to either keep me or take me.

And by the way, I was in one of the supposedly "best" hospitals in Lagos and being attended to by one of their very best doctors who was either clueless or intentionally wanted to take my life.

At about 6pm on that second day, the doctor came into my room and sat on a chair right in front of me with his two hands on his chin looking really worried.

I looked at him very fearlessly and asked why he looked worried. Then came the most tactless response I'd ever heard from a medical doctor; "We've tried everything but nothing seems to work"

"Do you want to kill me doctor? How do you leave your office to come and worry in my presence?" 

"Please go to your office and worry all you want!" I practically ordered him out of my room. I had gotten so bold just like a warrior. He said that there was a ban on the only drug that could work in my case. The doctor said that without mentioning other steps that he planned to take.

He had to leave my room so I could think and the only thing I could think of was to call my old doctor. He asked to speak to the doctor handling my case and that was when my lost hope in the medical profession was rekindled.

The pompous doctor ate humble pie and he responded to this other doctor who is much older than him in age and profession with so much respect and humility.

Hubby was out on the streets going from one drugstore to another in search of the almighty drugs that would induce labour. He came back at almost midnight without luck.

I held on tightly to my Rosary asking Mother Mary to intercede for me. I needed God like never before and I prayed so hard because my life was on the line.

Day three

The boys came to visit, I had not worried much about them, I was focused on staying alive for them. When I saw them I knew I had to live for them; to cook for and feed them; to bathe and care for them. I needed to be to guide through adulthood.

After they said their good byes and shut the door I broke down in tears for the first time, I looked at my tummy and spoke to my dead child. "I love you but you were not meant to stay. I wanted so much to carry you but it will not happen. My womb is not a grave yard and you just have to come out from my body. I need to go take care of them who would have been your brothers".

That evening the doctor deployed another method which he called archaic. Once again my old doctor was on the line to douse my fears.

Upon receiving the most painful intravenous injection ever; with the risk of bleeding heavily afterwards and after battling a nurse who suddenly started to play makossa inside the theatre I passed out. 

I guess I was in a place where nothing mattered anymore, marriage, family, job, wealth or any other thing. It was a battle between life and death and in the end, life won. My dead child listened to mummy' s plea.

I was led to the discovery room, I slept like a baby knowing that the battle had been won.

The next morning I discharged myself from the hospital to attend to a prior confirmed commitment.  

When I got back to speak to the doctor, I just wanted to know two things; the sex of the baby and what went wrong.

From the mouth of the one who previously said that my baby was fine came the words that pierced through my heart. He told me that the baby was so decayed that he evacuated it in pieces. 

He counted the bones to be sure that they wete all out of my body. He also removed the large chunks of flesh and would let my body absorb the rest of the tiny pieces of flesh.

I literary ran out of that hospital without looking back and with my heels touching the back of my head.

No longer do I say "Eh yah" to women who have gone through miscarriages. I'm more empathetic. Months later a beautiful young lady died in faraway Canada of exactly the same issues that I had. It would have been her first child.

In all, I'm grateful to be alive and I've never forgotten my child who would have been nine years old this year.

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