The fear I have to face
Oh god. I don’t want to do this. Make it stop someone. Please make it stop.
I’ve been trapped in this hospital for 3 days now. I do not want to be here. I don’t want her born here. I want to be able to bring her into the world in my home, to be able to nurse her in my bed. Just like I did her big brother.
But life has a habit of kicking my plans into orbit and forcing me to accept what will be. The protein the midwife discovered in my pee on Monday meant an emergency admission to hospital, I was heartbroken, but heartbroken is better than me or the child dying from pre-eclampisa, so I suppose I need to be grateful for this gift. Thank God for the NHS eh?
She’s not due for another 3 weeks, but today she’s safe to be born. About 3 hours ago, just after breakfast, a nurse came around and started the induction process. She will be born today. No time to let her be born when we are both ready. It’s going to be today. Let’s get on with it.
But sitting here with nothing and everything happening has left me with nothing to do but think.
And remember.
I remember the pain of the contractions.
I remember the pain of pushing a whole human head out of my body.
I remember that when this is all over, I have to go back to him, to the man who made this happen, to his lies, his manipulation, his controlling, his slow obliteration of all I am.
And I remember that I will have to care for a tiny, defenceless child. Not just today. But for years to come.
I am 37 years old. I didn’t want this. I don’t want this.
I am a mess. I can’t do this.
I want to go home. I want my mum. I want my life to go back to what it was before I met that man. I want to take my children and run away.
But I can’t.
One of my children is in school, eagerly anticipating the arrival of his new sibling.
Another is adventuring around France, enjoying the independence of young adulthood.
And the 3rd is lying in the dark, totally unaware of the chaos that my body is about to unleash on her tiny body as the drugs take hold, and my womb empties itself of the child it has held for almost 9 months.
The fear rises up in me until it leaks out of my eyes as unpluggable tears. I am bereft. I don’t know what to do. I know there is no escaping my fate. I must endure this pain, this life, this never-ending series of unfortunate events.
The hours pass by, filled with fear, boredom, irritation, impatience, laughter, tears, Facebook, and music. Eventually these things turn to pain, panting, crying, and large gulps of gas and air.
I think the nurses start to consider emergency surgery when, as we head towards midnight, some agonising, seemingly never-ending heaves change my cries of pain into the cries of the newborn life.
The girl I thought I was carrying proves to be as contrary as the 12-year-old I live with today, by being, in fact, a boy. A shock, and a disappointment as I didn’t get to use my chosen name. It was to take 3 whole days before he went from being ‘boy’ to being ‘Marcus’.
But in the moment I held that tiny body in my arms, kissing his soft skin, and basking in his newborn smell, and I feel the hungry, grateful suckling at my breast, all the pain, fear, rage, and unhappiness of the day were forgotten.
This child might not have been part of my life plan, but he was to create a future for me that I could never have dreamed of.
(This piece was written as part of the Coursera “Memoir and Personal Essay: Write About Yourself” specialization. This essay was an assignment in the module “Writing a Personal Essay)
