I have had enough with a lot of supposedly well-meaning people poking at my wounds thinking they are being helpful. Please, permit me to use this page to rant. I am not mad, not really. I just want to get a few things off my chest. Maybe it will help me feel better. Hopefully, it could help you tame your tongue when you’re placing your unsolicited expectations on another person’s body.

I am a woman who grew up following all the rules. My parents advised me to stay away from boys and focus on my books. I did. They told me not to give myself to any man until he marries me. We both know how much times have changed. These days men want to sleep with you even if they are not dating you. The ones who propose a relationship also want to have you because they believe it’s their right as your boyfriend. So you can imagine how difficult it is for a woman in this day and age to keep herself for marriage.

Regardless, I did it. I held on to my chastity the way an alcoholic holds on to his last bottle of beer. Even in the face of temptations and wanton desires, I didn’t relent. They told me I would live a happy and fulfilled life if I did everything that was expected of me. I believed it like it was gospel.

I got married to a man who adores me. If the sky was falling, he would hold it in place so it wouldn’t come crumbling down on me. He will go to the ends of the earth for me. He protects me from the world. I am not going to lie, I enjoy being the object of his affection.

When we found out we were pregnant for the first time, we couldn’t contain our joy. We made plans. Our life was going to change so we had to make some changes to accommodate the baby. I took my antenatal care seriously. I never missed my vitamins. I ate everything I was advised to eat so the baby would grow well in my belly. I listened to the do’s and don’ts of pregnancy from the older women who had gone before me. Again, I did everything right.

Unfortunately, all our preparations and hopes came crashing into our hearts when we lost the baby. We were broken but we held ourselves together. “Don’t cry too much, if not it will block your womb from having more babies,” the elders advised me. “Be strong. You are a man,” my husband got his piece of advice too.

It was a tragedy neither of us anticipated but we were expected to carry on with our lives as though it was a normal occurrence. We grieved our baby but not for too long because we were blessed with another pregnancy.

Because of what we lost in the past, my husband treated me as if I were a crate of eggs. Our doctors assured us that just because it happened the first time doesn’t mean it would happen again. We were hopeful for the joy this new life would bring into our lives.

One dawn I woke up to use the washroom when I saw my baby’s feet hanging out of me. A blood-curdling scream left my lips. My husband came rushing to the bathroom, “What is it?” I didn’t have to say anything. He knew it when he saw me. Another baby was gone.

If I thought the first loss was bad then the second one ground me into powder and scattered my essence to the wind. I almost lost my will to live but my husband was right there, going through it with me while showering me with so much love. On days I woke up and felt grey, he reminded me that all was not lost.

You would think the forces playing chess with my soul would give me a break from my troubles, but no. My mind became my own torturer. I would go to the washroom to urinate, only to be haunted by images of my adorable baby’s feet hanging out of me. You don’t easily heal from things like this. I had to go to therapy. It didn’t take the pain away but it made it bearable.

While I was working on making my heart better, my body was also waging war on me. For an entire year, my breast was leaking milk. I had the breasts of a nursing mother but there was no baby to suckle them. I bled too. Nothing I did to stop the bleeding worked. I underwent three surgeries, in different hospitals but I still bled.

At one point, we ran out of money so we stopped going to the hospital. I just told myself, “Maybe I am the modern-day woman with the issue of blood.” I gave up trying to heal and accepted the bleeding as a part of me. One day I woke up and there was no blood. The bleeding ceased on its own. Maybe my body got tired of all the violence it was putting itself through and finally chose peace.

I am just thankful that none of these is affecting my relationship with my husband negatively. He is my support system and I am blessed to have him. May God keep blessing him for me.

Now, this is why I need to rant. People cannot seem to accept the fact that I am married but have no child. The moment I feel a little bit sick, you would hear someone say, “Oh finally! The baby is coming!” Why must a woman’s illness always be about pregnancy?

READ ALSO: Our Baby Saw Me As A Monster When I Used That Shower Gel To Bathe

Sometimes all I am experiencing is a little indigestion but they won’t let me know peace. “Are you pregnant?” “Have you taken a pregnancy test?” They would bombard me with these questions. Can’t I just be a normal human experiencing flatulence?

I hate it when they ask me those questions. I know they mean well. They are oblivious to the fact that I have already lost babies. They think I have just chosen not to have kids. Even if that is the case, shouldn’t I have my peace of mind without people breathing down my neck about pregnancy?

I Didn’t Tell Anybody Because I Enjoyed It

What people don’t know is that every time this subject comes up, I get triggered. Imagine having to deal with the triggers my bathroom gives me, only to step out of the house and be triggered by well-meaning friends and family. It hurts.

I just want to say that if you’re reading this, learn to mind your business. It will make you one less person who triggers people like me. My toilet is enough reminder of everything I have hoped for and lost.

—K

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