My Miracles: Jayne’s Story
I didn’t know what was wrong with me when I was hospitalized in Mombasa’s Pandya Memorial Hospital after continuously throwing up for three days.
“You’re three months pregnant,’ my doctor announced, smiling down at me. “Pregnant?” The mere thought that a life was growing inside my womb nearly brought me to my knees. It was a miracle. I couldn’t even describe what I was feeling in that moment. I had wanted a child for a while and now it seemed my prayers had been answered.
At four and a half months, while I was sitting quietly reading Sidney Sheldon’s The Other Side Of Midnight, something fluttered in my stomach. Ever so gently, like the wings of a butterfly. My hand flew to my slightly protruding stomach as the feeling of awe and excitement grew. That was the first sign of the life growing in me. From then on, I paid attention to every little thing that was happening inside my womb. When the baby was agitated, I would play music from Kitaro and it calmed the baby down. It was amazing!
As the baby grew and my belly with it, I prayed for only two things: a safe childbirth and a healthy baby. That was in 1990. Thank God I had a good doctor, one that my husband and I could afford, for I knew that others were not so fortunate, especially those living in rural areas. My appetite was definitely for two. (Okay — sometimes for three) But I was hungry and happy and I wanted to show it. I had also heard about pregnant women craving strange things at times and I wondered what mine would be. It happened sooner than I expected — something that drove my normally calm husband crazy.
At a place in Mombasa town called Muembe Tayari, was a fish market with a smell strong enough to drop you dead. I normally avoided going there because of the odor. Now that I was pregnant, I wanted to set up a tent right there and inhale that horrible smell forever! I wanted to bottle it and take it home with me. (Wasn’t that something? ) My sisters disowned me each time I asked them to take me there thinking pregnancy had surely made me lose my mind. My husband worriedly told the doctor about it and the doctor laughed and assured him it would pass. I didn’t want it to pass though, at least not right then.
By the time I was nine months, my belly was so big I couldn’t see my toes. People would ask me with raised eyebrows, “ When were you due?” I would simply smile for what I was living was an experience so incredible it took my breath away. My final visit to the doctor dawned at last. This was on the 22nd of August. After the check up, the doctor looked at me and said, “You’ll see your baby by six o’clock this evening.”
My heart started drumming with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. I grabbed my husband’s hand and as we walked out, I looked at him and started to say something. He took one look at me and vigorously shook his head, “Oh no, no, no! Don’t ask me to go to Muembe Tayari, please! I’m surprised that smell hasn’t killed me yet,” he complained. I chuckled, feeling sorry for him. “I’m hungry. I want a burger.“ “A burger?” he frowned. “You never eat burgers.” ‘A last craving,“ I said with a trembling smile.
He looked into my eyes, squeezed my hand and smiled a wobbly smile. “A last craving.”
At 3pm I was in Pandya hospital and labor pains started around 4 o’clock. I walked up and down the room concentrating on my breathing while a nurse watched me. No epidural was mentioned, which I would have refused anyway for I wanted to experience everything the natural way. The doctor walked in as the pains increased, followed closely by my husband. At 6:15 my beautiful daughter Natasha was born. Tears filled my eyes as I held my tiny daughter in my arms. She was normal, the doctor said and both my husband and I sighed in relief and utter joy.
My son was born in Cape Town South Africa, at the Panorama hospital November 11th 1993. This pregnancy was totally different from the first one. I was emotionally fragile, I guess because we had to leave my beloved country, Kenya, and my family to go to a place where I knew no one at all. My husband worked for Schlumberger, an oil company and drilling was taking place in Namibia. This meant I would be alone with my daughter and he would come see us twice a month. Separation at this time wasn’t what we wanted and I tried not to think of the “what if something went wrong — -”. My biggest comfort, however, was my three year old daughter Natasha. She would put her tiny arms around my neck and say, “Mummy I love you.” I hugged her fiercely back, telling her I loved her too. I tried to be strong for her.
A dear friend passed away during this time and that was really tough. The baby’s birth was nearing and like I did my first pregnancy, I prayed for a safe childbirth and a healthy baby. I didn’t know I was going to get a son, but I was hoping for one. Had it been a girl I would have been just as happy as long as the baby and I were fine. The late craving I got totally surprised me. I started eating raw rice at the end of my eighth month.
My husband came home on the 10th of November and was returning to Namibia on the 12th. The baby was due on the 15th but in order for my husband to assist with the birth the doctor decided it was safe to induce me on the 11th. At 9am I was at the clinic. Natasha was in a playroom with other children right inside the building while my husband was with me. The pains came around 1pm. A nurse was present the whole time and the doctor kept coming to make sure everything was okay. I wanted a natural birth for this baby as well. My son was born at 3.15pm and when my husband told me it was a boy I couldn’t believe it. When he was put in my arms and I looked at him that’s when I started crying and laughing at the same time. He was perfect just like his sister, with lots of hair and all his fingers and toes. My husband went to get our daughter so she could meet her little brother. “He’s dirty,” she frowned, pointing at his face. “They’ll clean him in a minute,’ I reassured her, pulling her closer with one arm.
Cradling my children in subtle reverence, I realized just how lucky my husband and I were. How blessed. Our children were miracles. Giving birth is a miracle. When a childbirth goes well and both baby and mother are doing fine, It’s a miracle. My heart goes out to all those husbands who have lost their wives and all the children who have lost their mothers during childbirth. Everything possible should be done to ensure safe delivery. I highly support Every Mother Counts, for isn’t the word mother one of the most beautiful words to ever exist? Doesn’t every mother deserve to hold her miracle in her arms? Every mother deserves her miracle.
By Jayne Joan Grange
