Twenty-Four Hour Old

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Abstract

e, and will come to my aid. I start thinking that maybe it’s a good thing. I might just go numb from the cold and might not feel the pain. Or if I just stop thinking altogether, and try to sleep instead, all this would just stop.I shut my eyes tight, clench my jaws tighter till my head hurts; I try to force myself to sleep. But as I do, the jolt of pain reminds me, it’s just the beginning-the beginning of many more sleepless nights. Isn’t this something I prayed for? Something I got, as a result of my accepted prayers? But nothing prepared me for this.Bleeding, wrecked, torn open. Body flipped inside out, rearranged, recalibrated. Entire life spinning on a new axis pointed in new directions. Months of sustaining another, months more ahead of continued sustenance, if God wills. As the last bits of these thoughts hit my drugged brain and sink in, I feel a sudden shiver rush down my spine. Instead of trembling further, a strange warmth fills up my heart and spreads across my body. I reach out for the “assistance call button” and realize that I had been holding it all along.My call does not go unanswered. As someone comes and inquires, I find myself asking a different question than

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the one I had been preparing for the last 3–4 hours. I hear the answer and feel my body getting warmer and my heart getting fuller till it completely overpowers my brain. I finally manage to ask the question I had been meaning to, “may I get one blanket, I am feeling cold”. She answered that I already have four on me and asked if a fifth is necessary. I start drawing analogies in my head. “God has already given me what I wanted, more than what I wanted” as I try to recall her face from that single glance, I got of her. I smile and answer, “a fifth won’t be necessary” and pull my blankets around me tighter.As I start preparing myself for the half an hour wait, till I am shifted to my cabin, I take the moment to be grateful, to bask in the happiness of having survived the past nine months, the past few hours in post-ops. Just as a few minutes more till I hold my precious newborn, my baby girl in my arms, just a few more hours till I become a twenty-four-hour old mommy.<figure id="e322"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*_yaP2R-3s1R8a_B3IwnQYw.jpeg"><figcaption><a href="https://ko-fi.com/anonymomme9">https://ko-fi.com/anonymomme9</a></figcaption></figure></article></body>

I don’t have the strength to even ask for help, let alone the strength to cry out loud.

I hear the slow wails of despair. I hear the feeble cries for help. I hear them, getting louder and then slowly fading into the darkness as they go unanswered. I try to muster up my courage and gather all my strength to utter a single word for help. I fight back the urge to cry out of pain. But deep down, I know. I know there is no need to fight. My heart knows what my brain does not.

I don’t have the strength to even ask for help, let alone the strength to cry out loud.

As I lie there in the darkness, I can’t but hope. I hope that amidst those fading cries for help, someone will hear the sound of my teeth incessantly jittering, the sound of my body trembling against the cold surface, and will come to my aid. I start thinking that maybe it’s a good thing. I might just go numb from the cold and might not feel the pain. Or if I just stop thinking altogether, and try to sleep instead, all this would just stop.

I shut my eyes tight, clench my jaws tighter till my head hurts; I try to force myself to sleep. But as I do, the jolt of pain reminds me, it’s just the beginning-the beginning of many more sleepless nights. Isn’t this something I prayed for? Something I got, as a result of my accepted prayers? But nothing prepared me for this.

Bleeding, wrecked, torn open. Body flipped inside out, rearranged, recalibrated. Entire life spinning on a new axis pointed in new directions. Months of sustaining another, months more ahead of continued sustenance, if God wills. As the last bits of these thoughts hit my drugged brain and sink in, I feel a sudden shiver rush down my spine. Instead of trembling further, a strange warmth fills up my heart and spreads across my body. I reach out for the “assistance call button” and realize that I had been holding it all along.

My call does not go unanswered. As someone comes and inquires, I find myself asking a different question than the one I had been preparing for the last 3–4 hours. I hear the answer and feel my body getting warmer and my heart getting fuller till it completely overpowers my brain. I finally manage to ask the question I had been meaning to, “may I get one blanket, I am feeling cold”. She answered that I already have four on me and asked if a fifth is necessary. I start drawing analogies in my head. “God has already given me what I wanted, more than what I wanted” as I try to recall her face from that single glance, I got of her. I smile and answer, “a fifth won’t be necessary” and pull my blankets around me tighter.

As I start preparing myself for the half an hour wait, till I am shifted to my cabin, I take the moment to be grateful, to bask in the happiness of having survived the past nine months, the past few hours in post-ops. Just as a few minutes more till I hold my precious newborn, my baby girl in my arms, just a few more hours till I become a twenty-four-hour old mommy.