My Tryst with Pregnancy

We received the news of my pregnancy on 27^th October 2006. My cherished dream was going to come true now. I was going to become a Mother. I was going to bring a new life into this world. Everyone shared our happiness with us. We were elated. Our minds were filled with numerous dreams, plans, thoughts, and questions about the new life growing within me. Lots of advice and suggestions were showered by our well-wishers. All the ladies in the neighborhood came visiting and lots of Do’s and Don’ts were given. Suddenly many foods became out of bounds and new dishes were included in my daily intake. My husband and I pondered over the unending list of baby names and argued over our choice of names. We picked up books on pregnancy. My husband would caress my tummy and tease me on how it would expand over the next few months. Decisions of our life started revolving around the arrival of the new member in the family.

            Sadly, our joy was short-lived. Barely 10 days after I received the news, I developed complications and had to be hospitalized immediately. I was to be kept on observation. I knew, something terrible was happening. I was losing my baby and I was helpless.

It was going to be the first long stint of my life at the hospital. We reached the hospital late in the evening. It was a hospital run by a Christian institution. It was going to be my abode for God knows how many days. As we entered the hospital gates, I saw a grand statue of Jesus Christ stretching out his arms. My moment of anxiousness seemed to fade away as I decided to entrust myself to whatever was in store for me in the days to come. I got a Patient ID Number and Registration Number for myself. The nurses went by their routine documentation and checkups. I was asked to sit in a wheel chair to be taken to the ward. I resisted and reverted that I was perfectly capable of walking and taking care of myself. I walked the corridors and climbed the stairs of the hospital and reached the white bed sheet draped BED assigned for me. The nurse ordered me to lie down as she repeated all her checkups on me. I lay on the hospital bed with many other women around me suffering the same agony as mine. I could not sleep. Scary thoughts kept creeping my mind. The pale, morbid white walls of the hospital sank my heart further. No visitors allowed, I was all alone in the ward, my near and dear ones anxiously sitting outside. I was asked to leave all my personal belongings outside. All my requests of taking my books, mobile phone, purse, or extra clothing to keep me company were turned down. I guess they wanted us to feel what isolation was. That set me thinking. In the hospital bed, there is no difference between you and your neighbor. Sickness, agony and pain don’t differentiate between the rich and the poor, beautiful and not so beautiful, educated or uneducated. All material possessions are of no relevance anymore.

There were all kinds of nurses, the young ones and the old ones, the staff nurses and the students, all draped in their white uniform. To me all looked alike. The young ones, apparently students, were the more gentle ones. They were beautiful, lively, smiling, chatting with each other, eager to talk to you and know more about you. They would comfort me with kind words while I cried. They would take out time and answer all my questions. The oldies, probably toughened with time and experience were the more stern ones. Confined to hospital walls for years, they had turned cold as ice and had forgotten to smile. They went about giving orders to the young girls and to the people around. One such nurse bossed over me too.  

I was told that I had had a spontaneous abortion and I had to undergo an operation to clean any remains of it. The clinical terminologies made me feel more sick. The removal of remnants of what was a growing life within me was made to sound like a simple medical procedure. As I was getting ready for surgery, I was asked to change into a morbid looking white gown. All my colorful garments and beautiful gold and diamond jewelry were stripped off me. The defiant attitude with which I had entered the hospital had turned into that of surrender. I went about following all the instructions without any resistance. I just wanted it to get over soon. I was not allowed to walk. With sheer embarrassment, I closed my eyes and feigned a state of unconsciousness every time I was wheeled in and out in a wheelchair or a stretcher. At the operation table, we surrender ourselves and our life to some strangers with the faith that they would heal and revive us. All the nurses and doctors worked on me with their various injections and medical apparatus. I was completely sedated and assured that I would have no recollection or sensation of all the probing hands and equipment on me.

It is said that in an unconscious state, a person almost approaches ones end and comes back. I too had my rendezvous with death. Your entire life whizzes past before your eyes and the times we spent with our loved ones starts hitting us as if it just happened yesterday.

I emerged out of the operating theater totally oblivious of my surroundings. I am told that I was calling out my mother’s and husband’s name 2 entities that hold immense importance in a woman’s life. The mother brings you into this world and the husband is the catalyst for the woman to turn into a mother and continue her task of procreation. I have a faint recollection of holding on to my mom-in-law’s hand tightly and not letting it go, as if it were a dear object I was afraid to lose. My husband’s occupation kept him away from me. His absence further created a vacuum and I couldn’t share with him, what I was going through. I was desperately waiting for him to return. His soothing words over the phone seemed so distant and faint.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of church bells and the beautiful hymns being sung by the nuns at the chapel. It was quite a contrast to the physical and mental turmoil that I had gone through the previous day. What a soothing effect it was. Soon after that, a saintly looking Nun, the Superintendent of the ward, came visiting all patients and preaching some divine message of hers to each of them. A group of nurses followed her updating her about each patient. She gave a cute smile to me, and started talking to us.  As expected, we got our dose of her GODLY preaching too. I am not a religious person and I have my own spiritual time of conversations with the GOD. I am quite averse to excess preaching but at that moment her philosophical words seemed so true and relevant.

We waited for our turn as the lady doctor started her morning rounds walking from patient to patient scrutinizing their elaborate medical charts. She gave her go ahead and I could leave the hospital premises now. I couldn’t thank her enough. I just wanted to be back home.

My stay in the hospital was not a pleasant experience but nevertheless a very profound one. Such experiences make you more humble in life. We tend to be critical and negative about the not so happy moments of our lives. However, what I saw around me made me feel more blessed and fortunate. It made me view life with a more positive note. My loss and pain looked minuscule in front of what the other women were going through.

A woman fights against all odds to bring her baby into this world in a healthy state. She endures immense hardships to bring up her children. My respect and admiration for the WOMAN has increased.

So, that was my Tryst with Pregnancy. The optimist that I am, I decide to move on with my life in the hope that there would be Better Luck Next Time.