This is the first time I am writing about this. With so much humility and gratitude. Because my intention is to encourage anyone going through a hard time that seems to take forever to go away.
When I gave birth to my first son, it was such a joy in my family. My mom and
dad too, were grandparents. I can say it was a smooth pregnancy and delivery
too. But like many mothers, there is no such joy like walking into a hospital
pregnant and then going back home carrying your new bundle of joy. Both of you are healthy. It’s not obvious. It’s a miracle. Now I know this too well.
I delivered my son at around 9pm and I will never forget his beautiful first
cry. Holding him in my arms for the first time, in the ‘messy’ delivery room
but full of amazing caregivers. Five minutes after the pediatrician took him
over, her long silence signaled a problem. My son had a breathing problem. He
could not breath on his own. No. And he had to be put on oxygen. Immediately.
Initially, I could tell there was a problem during his first examination. The
pediatrician hurriedly covered my baby with the receiving blanked and dushed
out without uttering a word. No one was telling me anything as my gynae was
still attending to me to ensure my smooth transition to the ward. My twin
sister, who was holding me on the shoulders during the entire process knew everything
but managed me with her usual word. “Relax.” ‘Congratulations.’
After 30 minutes the pediatrician came back and briefed me about the issue. My
heart sunk. In worry and panic. Confusion, too. Birth trauma is still fresh. But
she assured me all was well and that there was nothing abnormal. That, it was
the usual newborn challenges that would go away within a few hours.
But that would not be the case. My son would stay in NICU (Neonatal Intensive
Care Unit) for a full two weeks. Breathing with Oxygen support.
Eventually, I had to discharge after four days to avoid the bill going up too
high. Without carrying my baby. But I will always be grateful for the doctors
and nurses who watched over him 24 hours, my brave husband who remained
positive even when I knew he was hurting. My, twin, who always acted like the
therapist in the house, lol. My girlfriends, my brothers, and sisters, etc. Kept
assuring me, “Don’t give up Wahito. He will be ok.” I mean what else do you
tell a mother in that situation. All I know is they meant well.
My son turned five this November 2021. Happy Birthday, son.
Long story short. I only learned one thing. Hope equals miracles. Because it’s
always at a time when all logic loses meaning. Completely. And only faith is
left.
Are you feeling like your life is all mess-up? Keep the faith. Because anything
else won’t make sense. Nothing. And if you don’t believe me, (no judgment)
watch the 2017 Papillon film, on Netflix.
It shall be well. Don’t give up.