‘Doctor she’s paper white!…she’s paper white!’ I heard the tension in the nurses’ voice as they screamed in confusion over my traumatized body. My eyes were shut tight. All I could hear were voices. I could barely tell what was going on. Then I heard one more voice before I passed out, ‘Wheel her to the theatre as fast as you can’.
I regained consciousness as suddenly as I had lost it. The atmosphere was calm and I could feel fingers probing into my stomach area. I flicked my eyes open the next second to observe what was going on and suddenly the whole atmosphere became intense. A nurse kept shouting, ‘Doctor she’s alive!… she’s alive’. There was a little commotion for a while and then I passed out again. Or should I say, slept off? Because the next time I woke up felt so peaceful and calm, like I had had a good nap.
As I looked slowly around my bedside, the events that occurred prior to all the drama, replayed in my head. From my marriage to abusive Akin to the night of my labour when I was supposed to give birth to the twins; it all came back to me. I remembered being dragged into the back seat of Akin’s Range Rover sports and I remembered the crazy speed with which Donald (his best friend) sped across town to get to St. Maria’s Hospital. The rest I remembered in flashes. There was a crash… people everywhere…an ambulance… nurses… the theatre.
I looked down at my tummy. Wait… the twins, where are they? A sweet looking nurse entered the room just then. She got very excited on seeing me awake, ran back to get a doctor and afterwards, they both explained a few things to me. I had been out for a few days, my babies were fine (chilling somewhere in the ICU), Donald was in the male ward nursing a few stitches and Akin… Akin didn’t make it from the accident. He breathed his last right there at the crash scene. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. Here I was being told that the man I had shared the two most painful, abusive and near-to-death years of my life, who also happens to be the father of my newborn twins, was dead. I didn’t cry aloud. A few drops of tears flowed down my cheeks.
I spent almost every waking moment with my two precious darlings, as we waited patiently for our discharge day. I didn’t want to think about how life would be as a single mum. I hated myself for being so blind and stupid to pitch myself in the same tent with someone like Akin. If only I had maintained my relationship with Raymond. I was simply worried about the future. Raymond was still in his final year in Med school by the time I was ready to get married. He still had a few more years to get his life together and start a family. And that time I didn’t have. He had always been the perfect gentleman and any woman would be lucky to have him.
My eyes were filled with sadness as I thought about my wrong choices and how miserable my life had become. I stared at my babies in their little beds. Thank God the nurses said they’d soon be relocated to my ward because nursing my wounds and visiting the babies ICU at several intervals wasn’t a small task. My mother walked in with a young nurse. She had arrived the hospital soon after I had regained consciousness. ‘The doctor would be here soon’, the nurse announced.
My mom suggested we let the doctor do his job while I get something to eat. But I refused. The head of the paediatrics department was to come check the babies and certify them fit for discharge. I wanted to be there when he did. I hadn’t had the privilege of meeting with him since we arrived the hospital and I sure had a few questions for him.
Mom left me and went to ensure my food was sent to my ward while I started into space, still lost in my deep thoughts. The doctor arrived some moments later. I turned my head slowly and found his head buried in the case file as the nurse pointed out a few things to him.
‘Raymond?’ I couldn’t believe my own eyes. The doctor immediately looked up from his case file. ‘Julie! I can’t believe this. Julie it’s you. How did you?…’ Raymond stopped between his words. He was as confused as I was.
TO BE CONTINUED.
