Here I am, seated in a place I never imagined, waiting anxiously for news that threatens to shatter my heart. Mike couldn’t join me this time due to his other commitments. He understood the gravity of this meeting for me, for us. In his absence, he sent a thoughtful text message, reassuring me that regardless of the outcome, we’re in this together. It’s a reflection of the vow we made on our wedding day, standing before God and man. Margaret, my closest friend, volunteered to accompany me, offering emotional support. She’s been like the sister I wished for during my childhood days, filling the void left by my sister’s absence.
As I sit in Dr Uwalaka’s waiting room, surrounded by expectant mothers and newborns, I can’t help but reflect on my desires. The unpleasant scent of disinfectant lingers, mingling with the sounds of whimpering babies. I’ve become accustomed to this atmosphere, and it’s almost as if I could fall asleep here. A young woman across from me, holding her infant with the uncertainty of a first-time mother, serves as a poignant reminder of what I long for. The sleepless nights when Mike is away on business, I’ve often found myself questioning where life went wrong. And on days when I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I instinctively place my hand on my stomach, silently willing it to bring forth life. Even a miscarriage would offer a glimmer of hope that I’m not entirely barren.
From a young age, I envisioned a future filled with a loving husband and a large family. But fate had different plans for me, plans that seem to mock me in the sterile, cream-white walls of the hospital. The scent of disinfectant and the bustling nurses, who I’ve seen on multiple occasions, serve as constant reminders. How do I untangle the pain within me, the doubts about Mike’s fidelity, and the growing realization that he might eventually desire children, even if it means leaving me?
The nurse’s call interrupts my thoughts. “Mrs. Catherine Eneh.” I rise and signal to Margaret, who has been following behind me. As I enter Dr Uwalaka’s office, I can’t help but pause in front of the door, facing Margaret. “I can manage from here,” I assure her, mustering a smile despite my anxiety. She gives my arm a reassuring squeeze before heading back. Whatever news awaits, I’d prefer to keep it private.
Inside the office, Dr Uwalaka’s neatly organized space is a reflection of his youthful energy. He exudes a charismatic presence that makes him well-suited for his role as an obstetrician and gynaecologist. His perfectly aligned white teeth and firm jawline make it difficult to focus on anything else.
“Great to see you again, Mrs Eneh. How are you feeling?” he asks, his smile radiating warmth. I wish he’d chosen different words, something other than “great to see you again.” How about, “It’s a pleasure to have you here.” It’s wonderful to see you again, but maybe you should return next week since you’re struggling with infertility. Maybe we need to explore IVF.
“I’m… I’m doing fine,” my voice barely audible. I clear my throat with a cough and take a seat, feeling the weight of the situation.
He gives me an understanding smile as if my response was ordinary. He hands me an envelope containing a letter. As I open it, my heart races as I quickly scan the contents.
“It says here that you’re fine and just need to give it some time. Keep track of your ovulation days and make sure you and your husband are together during that time.”
“But I’ve been…” confusion tinges my voice. I’ve been tracking my ovulation diligently, using an app and a monitor. What could be wrong?
He seems to ponder for a moment before asking, “What about the discussion we had last time? Did you consider having your husband get a fertility check? It’s worth exploring.”
I offer a nod, my mind racing as I realize I haven’t discussed this with Mike yet. How can I convince him to undergo a fertility check? Will it wound his pride? Mike knows the struggle my mother had to conceive me; it might be a family issue. “I’ll take care of it,” I respond, refraining from revealing my hesitation. I appreciate his efforts, though. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He nods in response. “Don’t let this trouble you too much. I’ve encountered similar cases, and there are various factors at play. It could be stress, irregular ovulation tracking, or even a combination of factors. Don’t put undue pressure on yourself. Let’s work on finding the issue and finding solutions.” He encourages me. “Until I tell you otherwise, maintain a healthy lifestyle and continue your efforts.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you soon, then?” I intentionally let the sentence trail as a question.
“Absolutely,” he replies with a smile, showcasing his white teeth.
Exiting his office and entering the hallway filled with women waiting their turn, I feel Margaret’s approach from behind. I offer her a smile, knowing she’s eager to learn the outcome.
“I’m perfectly fine. Just need to keep at it,” I assure her.
“I told you there was nothing to worry about.”
**********
Mike arrives home earlier than usual, lifting me off the ground and kissing me with an urgency that speaks of his longing. I kiss him back, matching his fervour, feeling a tingle of excitement between us. Gently pushing him away, I grab his briefcase and ask with a teasing giggle, “How was work?”
His seductive gaze and playful pout make me laugh even harder. “You have an unfair advantage. I want you right here on this couch, just like old times.”
Chuckling, I reply, “Please, give me a break,” struggling to contain my own excitement. He envelops me from behind, his arms circling my waist as he nuzzles my ear. “I know what you want,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with seduction, fully aware of how much I love it.
Playfully poking his ribs, I slip out of his embrace, laughing as I watch him clutch the spot I jabbed, sinking to the floor while grumbling in mock pain.
This playful banter is one of the joys of our marriage. Mike intuitively knows how to lift my spirits, especially when I’m feeling down.
“I love you,” I call out as I dash into our bedroom to set down his bag.
“Love isn’t free,” he playfully retorts, a reminder of our early days when he insisted on a kiss as proof of my affection. It’s a playful dynamic that continues to thrive.
**********
“I’m not going anywhere!” Mike’s voice reverberates, his fist striking the dining table, leaving me taken aback. This is a side of him I’ve never seen before.
I approach him cautiously, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Baby, we need to find out what’s wrong so we can…”
“You’re implying I’m the one with fertility issues, aren’t you?” he interrupts, brushing my hand away as he walks away from me and toward the door leading out of the house. “So, your little doctor feeds you some theories, and suddenly you’re convinced I’m the problem?” His hand slams the door shut, the force so strong that I fear the hinges might give way.
My eyes remain fixed on the closed door, unsure of when or if he’ll return today. As I gaze at our wedding picture hanging in the living room, memories of our enthusiastic dreams flood back. I’ve always been proud of my choice of dress in that picture, how exquisite I looked in my off-shoulder lace bridal gown, and how dashing Mike looked in his white tuxedo.
How did I end up in this situation? I find myself wondering about Chinedu, a past flame. Could my life have been less filled with misery and unfulfilled dreams if I’d chosen to be with him instead? Could I possibly have children by now?
Taking a seat at the dining table, tears threaten to escape. But I sternly remind myself, no tears. There’s no room for tears. What happened to Chinedu anyway? I ponder.
Read Part 2 Here: My Pride 2
Patiently waiting for the continuation