Second Chances

Time is moving at a slower pace than I would like. There are three more people at the reception with me - a girl who looks like she could give up anything to be anywhere else right now and another girl with a man who seems to be her boyfriend sitting next to her. I think of how comforting it must feel not to have to be in a place like this on your own. It has been a couple of months since I decided to move back to my place, and I do not feel angry for the first time in a while. I can now appreciate the birds chirping in the morning, I visit my mother more than I used to and her humming is comforting as usual but there is a certain sadness to it as well. I feel sad for myself, for her, and for the conversations I long to have but know will never happen. At the moment, however, a part of me is grateful. There is a bit of gratitude in that space in my heart that used to hold so much anger. I am glad that I have chosen myself for the first time.

“Ma’am, is this your first pregnancy?”

“Yes”

“My first pregnancy.” I still cannot believe it. Since I was a little girl, I never pictured myself as a mother. I knew I would be rich and live somewhere next to a beach with a goodlooking man but I never saw myself as anyone’s mother and here I am now affirming that indeed there is a life growing inside me. The past week has been nothing but hazy. I cannot account for anything that has happened since I sat across a nice doctor who gently delivered the words, “It looks like in nine months you are going to be someone’s mother.”I knew she meant well, but I was still annoyed by how calm she appeared in the entire situation. I wondered what she saw on my face when she looked at me. Did she notice the fear? Did she catch the fleeting moment of shame I felt for thinking I should have known better? Could she tell that, at that moment, I had already made up my mind about what I was going to do?

As I change into the white hospital gown that the nurse just handed me, I am thinking of the

doctor’s words before he left the room to allow me to change out of my clothes. ‘You are eight weeks gone, but I still have to check your cervix’ Eight weeks pregnant and I did not feel anything apart from constant fear whenever I thought of what was going on within me. I always thought everyone connected with their baby immediately they found out they were pregnant but I did not even see it as a baby yet. I did not feel any connection which also added to the guilt I imposed on myself because I felt that’s what is expected of me in a moment like this. There is a tempting moment but I do not want to imagine what the baby would possibly look like. Would they take my features or would they look like their father? Their father. I had not thought of him in a while. One of the biggest arguments we had in our three-year relationship was about children. He wanted a family, but I did not. After that fight, I knew we would not make it. It hurts to think that I am going through this on my own but I do not think he needs to know. It would not make any difference, at least not for me.

I am currently lying on my back, looking directly at the fluorescent lights above me. There is a radio playing in the background, and on a normal day, I wouldn’t have minded the music.

However, at this moment, everything feels incredibly sad. There was another girl in the room just before I got in, and even though I never got the chance to see her, her mere presence felt reassuring. It was a reminder that I wasn’t alone after all. The volume of the radio is now lower and there’s a man standing next to me. I think he’s the nurse. He tells me to make sure I’m in a comfortable position and keep my legs open. I can’t see what’s happening beyond my knees but I can hear the doctor settling in. He tells me to get ready and before I can fully prepare myself, I feel the coldness of something heavy and metallic going into me. I knew it was going to be painful, but I was ready to tolerate any amount of pain. Still, I am surprised by the intensity of the pain that just shot through my body. I find myself asking the nurse to hold my hand. I hold his hand the entire time and allow my mind to wander so I wouldn’t focus on the pain. I am thinking of this stranger who has just let me hold his hand through one of the most critical moments of my life. What did he think of me? How many other girls had he held through this? I am grateful for him- for people like him who chose to be there for others during life-changing moments. I am listening to the machine whirring away and I cannot help but feel a sense of hopefulness that ideally I shouldn’t be feeling. I might not know what is on the other side of the door I never got open, but I am looking forward to what is on the other side of this one that I just walked into.

Written by Daisy Mukasa

Daisy Mukasa is a Kenyan communications expert passionate about women and storytelling. She enjoys crafting compelling stories inspired by experiences around her. Her work explores themes of love, heartbreak, and intimacy offering raw and relatable narratives. Daisy hopes that her readers feel seen through her writing.