Faith, Fear and a little Heartbeat

 It was the first week of the new year, January 2023, and we were on holiday. A fresh beginning, I thought. After we returned, I sensed something different, a feeling I hadn’t had in a long time. I took a test, and there it was, I was pregnant.......

This was my moment, my now-or-never. If it worked, I would welcome it with open arms; if it didn’t, I would accept that maybe it was not meant to be. This quiet conviction, this faith in myself, kept me grounded. I was ready to face whatever would come, trusting in my strength to carry me through. I found a new gynecologist, someone who could bring a fresh perspective, unclouded by the journey I had already been on. With each appointment, I kept my news close to my heart, sharing it with no one outside my circle. I did all the things people say, stayed positive, believed deeply. Everything seemed to be progressing as it should, and I dared to hope. Then came the 10th week. One night, without warning, I began to bleed. My heart sank as we rushed to the hospital, fear gripping me with each passing second. When we arrived, the radiology department was closed. I couldn’t get the scan I so desperately needed. All I received was medication and a cautious reassurance, but no real answers. I left the hospital with nothing but a mix of hope and dread, not knowing what tomorrow would bring.

After that night, I couldn’t shake the fear. I started going for weekly scans just to calm my nerves. I needed to see everything live on the screen to feel reassured. Each scan brought me a bit of relief, but the worry was always there, lingering. Time passed, days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. I held onto each small sign that things were okay, hoping with all my heart that everything would keep moving forward as normal.

After that night, the fear stayed with me, refusing to let go. I became so anxious that weekly scans became my ritual. I needed to see that tiny heartbeat flickering on the screen, to witness life unfolding in front of me, if only to calm the storm within. Each scan was a breath of relief, but the worry lingered, always waiting in the background. And so, the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. I clung to each small milestone, holding onto hope with every bit of strength I had. Slowly, I learned to let faith carry me through, trusting that as long as I was doing everything I could, things would continue to progress as they were meant to.

 Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and with each one that passed, my confidence grew. At week 28 or around about that time I was at a checkup and remember having felt very uneasy for days I was detected with pregnancy hypertension. I was told to keep all worries at bay as this might lead to an earlier delivery. Keep worries at bay, now I was somewhat of an expert in doing this. By the time my baby shower arrived, I felt surrounded by love and hope, though I still had to push away the occasional shadow of doubt. Those familiar worries from my past experiences tried to creep in, but I stayed focused. By then, my family and I had developed a playful guessing game around the baby’s gender. Those who thought we’d be welcoming a girl wore pink, while those predicting a boy sported blue. And no one waved the blue flag louder than I did! I was firmly convinced I’d be having a boy, swayed by all the old wives’ tales about belly shape, morning sickness, and everything in between. My husband and daughter, however, were devoted to the pink camp, both secretly hoping for a baby girl. It became a joyful ritual, bringing us all closer as we counted down to the big day. It felt as though the universe had other plans; we kept moving forward, milestone by milestone. I reached the safety mark or what I would like to think as, then to the day where my doctor at an appointment point said, “You can pick a delivery date.” So, I did. I chose the day that felt right and prepared to carry my baby to full term.

On the morning of my scheduled cesarean, I woke up with a sense of calm and quiet excitement. I took a shower, got dressed, and my husband and I made our way to the hospital. He was by my side every step of the way, steady and supportive, sharing silent glances that held all our hopes and dreams for our growing family. As I was wheeled into the operating room, the boy or girl question added a touch of suspense to the air. I felt a mix of gratitude, disbelief, and relief that we had made it this far. Then, the doctor made the first incision, and I held my breath (not literally) 😉, clutching onto that moment as if time had paused. Finally, I heard her say, “It’s a beautiful baby girl.” In that instant, everything I had held onto during this journey, the hopes, the doubts, the dreams, they all came together. My thoughts went straight to my older daughter, waiting outside, who would be overjoyed to hear the news she’d been hoping for. Ecstatic would barely describe the happiness she’d feel when she found out she had a baby sister.

 Afterward, as I lay recovering, messages began pouring in from family and friends. Some were surprised, others amazed, and many hadn’t even known I was expecting. For those who knew my story, and there were only 2 people in this universe who knew every single pain I had gone through. It was a moment of disbelief and celebration, a natural pregnancy and a healthy delivery at 42! Their wonder and excitement were palpable, as if they, too, were realizing the strength of the human body. 

Reflecting on it all, I am endlessly grateful that I persevered and kept going, despite the heartache of the past. They say you should only have a second child if it’s something you truly want, not because your first child wants a sibling. But for me, that sentiment couldn’t have been further from the truth. My decision was deeply influenced by my older daughter’s wish to have a little sister. I still remember her scribbling “I love you, my baby sister” on her wall when I was just four months pregnant. Despite what I thought I knew, maybe on some level, she knew all along. This journey has shown me what perseverance can achieve, how the body can carry us through when we need it most. We don’t always know the strength within us until we’re called to find it. I am so deeply thankful that I didn’t give up, that third time lucky brought me the greatest joy of my life, holding my beautiful baby girl, Aisha.