Broken hearts

Two days after I lost Isaac a nurse walked into my room and asked me where my baby was. I could not believe my ears. It was clear there was no baby from my notes and the sticker on the door. I politely replied ‘we lost him.’ Similar questions are still being asked even years after this incidence. Each time I fell pregnant I had to recount my whole pregnancy history and what happened to each doctor, midwife, sonographer  …  I came across, and that was a lot considering the extra number of appointments I had because of my ‘history’. It makes me wonder why patients have notes in the first instance. Similarly anytime I am asked how many children do you have? I may have to disclose what happened to my two children if I choose to.

Over the years, I have learnt not to be heartbroken each time I have to recount my tale or I am made to remember what happened to me. There’s no hiding from my past. It has actually molded me into the person that I am today which I am totally grateful for. Each time I recall my experience either personally or by others instigating it, I am reminded of the countless women in my shoes that I can reach out to because of common ground. As I end this post let me leave you with the words of Elie Wiesel.

“Better that one heart be broken a thousand times in the retelling, he has decided, if it means that a thousand other hearts need not be broken at all.”

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