The Gynae’s Call

“I told you that you should not have another baby until after two years.”

I cannot stand the look of the person facing me in the mirror. Worse still, I cannot stand the presence of my husband in the house—let alone the look he is giving me and the words on his lips.

‘Honey… I cannot tell you how much I love you but you are the most important thing in my…

Before I could hear any more of whatever it is he was saying I had reached the door to my balcony and shut the same door with a loud bang.

I could not bring myself to tell him. It was not enough that I had night school, a demanding job, a boss who could not stand my asking for permission to take care of my son, and just the sheer energy required to be a mother to a son who was barely walking… and now I’m pregnant!

It is not that I’m an ungrateful woman but my son is just months old! Oh my God! There is the stress of telling the girls… they will kill me… for giving the sorority a bad name. You see I have known this particular group of girls forever. They have been there for me when I was chic and trendy, never imagining that I would ever have to worry about babies.

It has been a tight bunch since the times we were free spirits and had a swell of a time just living our lives the best we knew how: visiting each other, participating in all those musical cantatas, and attending all those weekend retreats—it was really fun. Now with the challenges of motherhood and confronts of being a wife, our (the girls’ sorority,) priorities are inclined towards career development and investment’s strategic planning not so much about downloading babies in droves.

As the waft of this solo moment on the veranda hits me, I cannot bring myself to tell my husband, my girls, and my mother that I have a ‘ban in the oven’! You see my mother is meticulous. My pregnancy before my son is 2 years would amount to haphazardness for her. How is it possible that I did not inherit that gene? You see my sisters’ and brothers’ birth dates are neatly spaced. My eldest brother is two and a half years older than my eldest sister and I am a clear two and a half years younger than my eldest sister while my little brother is a clear two and a half years younger than I am.

The breeze on this balcony is pretty blissful a contrast to the harsh sway of the trees below. Above me the clouds are on a marathon towards the south, playing hide and seek as they cover and expose the sun to warm my skin. Below me, I see a scurry of squirrels all in a jolly good mood. Boy, I envy these little rodents for their gleeful high-spirited lives. Just then my phone rings…

‘This is Dr. Nsibirwa’s Clinic, please hold on for his office. Thank you,’ that’s the voice of the telephone operator. Shortly I hear the crisp baritone and the unmistakable Ugandan accent of the Gynaecologist.

‘Madam, you know I have been in this profession for over 30 years and that is why I was your mother’s Gynaecologist,’ my mind is racing with anxiety and I cut him short politely.

‘Eh Dr. Nsibirwa, how is your beautiful wife?’ I interject what I think was to be a scolding session while at the same time putting the phone on the loudspeaker. And being the sharp man he is Daktari interjects me in a manner-of-fact way that I do not even try to counter him as he reads my sentence for me. It honestly sounds like a eulogy.  To avoid a lot of hustles I simply put the cell phone on loudspeaker and place it on the balcony rail as I stretch my now tired body on the floor.

‘Don’t worry about my wife, she is fine. Worry about yourself. I have your results here and to say that I am disappointed will be an understatement. When you got your son—you may remember it was a cesarean section.

In the presence of your husband, I told you that you should not have another baby until after two years. Maybe I was not very clear then. I should have said ‘do not’ which would mean you had no option. And where is your husband anyway?’ he asks.

‘I am here Daktari, how have you been?’ that’s my husband interjecting my cell phone and now picking it up from the balcony rail before continuing to talk with Dr. Nsibirwa as he puts his mass on the floor beside mine.

‘Hey, Kijana, why have you been avoiding me? Is it because of these things you are doing that I told you not to? Now you have been found out and I cannot handle this case,’ Dr. Nsibirwa says with finality.

‘Daktari what are you talking about?’ My husband lifts his bulky body from the floor as he moves away from me with a worried look on his face. I do not want to find out the outcome of the conversation so I make as if to get off the floor before I hear the reaction. ‘What! It is not possible? But how? Can I call you a bit later?’ he says as he disconnects the cellphone. Making wide strides with his dandy long legs, my husband was standing over me with shock clearly spelled all over him. He was shaking and his anger was rising.
‘When were you going to tell me?’

END: BL36/27