It is with great pleasure and surprise that we, the staff of World Friends Nairobi office and Ruaraka Uhai Neema Hospital, have found the story of Michael and Veronica being published on the Daily Nation this morning. Michael and Veronica are father and mother of Patience, the first baby girl that was born in RU Neema Hospital thanks to a caesarean intervention, on the 12th of September 2011, the day that the RU Neema Maternity ward started activities with patients.
The article that follows is reported from the Daily Nation of the 16th of November 2011.
Michael:
This second pregnancy was like a magnet, a magnet that drew me and my husband closer than we had ever been, even closer than when we were expecting our first child.
Interestingly, I was not really anxious. In my heart, I knew that we would take our daughter home. After labouring for eight hours, an emergency caesarean section was done. When I woke up, I found myself looking into the eyes of the most beautiful girl in the world.
Patience Hawi. I stayed in hospital for a week as doctors monitored my progress, but I did not mind; what mattered was that my daughter was by my side. When we were discharged, our home was a hive of activity, with people coming in and out, day after day — relatives, neighbors, friends, and colleagues who shared in our happiness.
Hawi is now two months and a couple of days old. John Paul is still in our minds, he will always be in our minds, but when I think about him, I do not burst into tears anymore. Instead, I remember him with fondness. His death brought us closer to God, and we learnt to trust in Him. It also taught us a few valuable lessons, which I would like to share with would-be parents.
Do not go to just any hospital. Shop around, visit as many hospitals as possible, insist on seeing their facilities, take a walk through their maternity wards, theatre, and ensure that should anything go wrong, they are equipped to handle an emergency. It is also important to talk to other parents, find out which hospitals they had their babies, and what their experience was. On Monday morning, the nurses finally gave in and induced my wife, but she was too weak to respond. When our son was finally born, he was too weak to even cry.
From where I was waiting outside the delivery room, I saw nurses hurriedly wheeling in oxygen cylinders.
With mounting dread, I asked what was happening, but no one would even look at me. A while later, I heard a loud anguished cry from the labour ward — it was my wife. No one needed to tell me that we had lost our baby. I rushed inside and I held John Paul Ochieng. He was not breathing, but he was still warm. His fight to stay alive lasted for about 10 minutes. We buried our son at the Lang’ata Cemetery, with just family and a few friends present. He had been ours, even if it was just for a few minutes. He deserved a decent and dignified burial.
Our son’ death hit Veronica hard. All she did was cry. She did not want to talk to, or see anyone.
She would get hysterical when she saw his baby clothes. I felt helpless. I too was grieving for our son, but I had to put on a brave face for her sake. She had carried him for nine months, only to lose him in just a few minutes. I took a week’s leave from work to be with her.
Veronica is out-going and talkative, but had became unusually quiet, and no matter how many times I tried to bring up the subject, she would not talk about John Paul.
Eventually, I convinced her to go for counselling, but the progress was very poor. She still would not take phone calls or allow visitors. I have never felt so helpless. I was, therefore, relieved when she told me that she wanted to join a prayer group in our church.
It was a good idea because after about a week, she started to answer her phone.
The healing was gradual — it took her months to start talking about our son’s death. One day, she told me that she had accepted God’s will. I cannot tell you how relieved I felt.Her health had deteriorated so much that her periods had stopped. It took about five months for her menstrual cycle to go back to normal. Even though I wanted us to try for another child, I was afraid of how she would take it, so I decided to give it some time.
About eight months after John Paul passed away, Veronica asked me to take her to hospital because she was feeling unwell. Several tests, including one for pregnancy, were done. The happiness we felt was indescribable when it turned positive.
This time round, we were determined to be prepared. In fact, we started to shop for a hospital almost immediately. We were not going to take any chances. We settled for Ruaraka Uhai Neema Hospital, along Thika Road.
Understandably, we were both anxious when Veronica went into labour. Though we did not voice it, there was the fear that we might lose our baby again, especially when she still had not given birth after eight hours of labour.
The medical team advised an emergency caesarean section soon afterwards. Her stay in theatre was one of the longest periods of my life. Unable to calm down in spite of the continuous prayers I kept saying, I decided to walk to a nearby Catholic church, telling myself that my prayers would have a better impact if I said them in a place of worship.
I switched off my phone, and prayed on my knees for about 30 minutes.
Immediately I switched it on a call came through: “Congratulations! You have beautiful daughter,” one of the nurses informed me. Patience Hawi was born on 12 September this year, weighing 3.3 kilos, after eight hours of labour, eight hours of anxiety on my part. Her name is symbolic. We could have named her after either of our mothers, but considering what we had been through, it made more sense to have significant names. Hawi is Dholuo for blessing. Our daughter is a blessing and a constant reminder of our patience and our love for each other.
Veronica:
It is impossible to describe the pain I went through when our son passed away.
I had really looked forward to holding him in my arms and taking him home with me. Watching the nurses trying to resuscitate him and failing was agonising. I just lay there, feeling helpless as my son faded away. I felt as though God did not love me, otherwise how could He allow my son to die? How could he allow me to carry him for nine months, and then take him away?
I hated it when people told me that they were sorry. It would not bring him back, and considering the enormity of what had happened, sorry felt like mockery. I did not even want to talk about John Paul’s death; all I needed was time to myself.
After the burial, we went home, only to be confronted by our son’s clothes.
They reminded me of his demise and I could not stand to see them. I lost interest in everything, including food, and would just sit and cry the whole day. The counselling that Michael persuaded me to attend did not help much. Eventually, I joined a prayer group, and with time, I felt as though a big load had been lifted from my shoulders. I even gathered courage and visited John Paul’s grave site and placed flowers.
In the next few months, I felt emotionally ready to try for another child.
However, I doubted that this would happen soon since my health had taken a beating. My periods had even stopped. It was, therefore, a pleasant surprise when I conceived soon afterwards. I was so excited, and whereas it would have made more sense to be cautious and keep the news to myself, I felt like telling the whole world. I could not wait for my friends, neighbours, and colleagues to notice that I was pregnant.
In my excitement, I started to wear maternity clothes long before the bulge appeared.
When an ultra-sound scan confirmed that we would be having a girl, it took a lot of restraint not to jump and scream with happiness. I took it to signify a new beginning. Three months into the pregnancy, I began to shop for our daughter. This second pregnancy was like a magnet, a magnet that drew me and my husband closer than we had ever been, even closer than when we were expecting our first child.
Interestingly, I was not really anxious. In my heart, I knew that we would take our daughter home.
After labouring for eight hours, an emergency caesarean section was done. When I woke up, I found myself looking into the eyes of the most beautiful girl in the world.
Patience Hawi. I stayed in hospital for a week as doctors monitored my progress, but I did not mind; what mattered was that my daughter was by my side. When we were discharged, our home was a hive of activity, with people coming in and out, day after day — relatives, neighbours, friends, and colleagues who shared in our happiness.
Hawi is now two months and a couple of days old. John Paul is still in our minds, he will always be in our minds, but when I think about him, I do not burst into tears anymore. Instead, I remember him with fondness. His death brought us closer to God, and we learnt to trust in Him. It also taught us a few valuable lessons, which I would like to share with would-be parents.
Do not go to just any hospital. Shop around, visit as many hospitals as possible, insist on seeing their facilities, take a walk through their maternity wards, theatre, and ensure that should anything go wrong, they are equipped to handle an emergency. It is also important to talk to other parents, find out which hospitals they had their babies, and what their experience was.