Úmé- Breath

“Relax Zi, just relax. These things happen, we should be grateful you’re alive”. Tito said in a lowered tone audible enough for Ziora to hear.

 

“These things? Loosing a baby four times is that random for you to refer to it as ‘these things’?” Ziora said and rolled her eyes. 

“No Zi, that’s not what I mean, I’m trying to say you shouldn’t beat yourself over it. A lot of people...”

“Tito! I want to rest. Can I be left alone?” Ziora said as she backed Tito facing the wall of her bedroom. 

“Are you sure? I don’t think you should...” Tito halted. 

“Tito!! Pleaseee go!” Ziora blurted out. 

She knew Tito, her younger sister was only showing concern and although it was thoughtful,  Ziora didn’t need someone minimizing the extent of her anguish. It was painful, very painful. Every single time was even worse than the previous.

 

“Okay, okay I’m going. Tell me if you need anything, I’ll be in the sitting room. Remember, it’s not your fault.” Tito said shutting the door gently. 

“Of course it was my fault, I could pass all my exams, get a great job but not carry a baby. What was so difficult in carrying a baby?” Ziora said to herself as the door echoed. 

Ziora stared and wondered, her gaze piercing through the wall. She had so many questions, questions she knew probably didn’t have answers. 

They became even more after every miscarriage. ‘What wasn’t she doing right?’ ‘Why did her baby keep running away from her’? 

Tears blurred her vision as she kept staring. 

She wasn’t getting any answers today, as usual. 

She finally drew a breath and wiped her face when she realized she had soaked the pillow with tears, hot streams of it. 

Zioranwachukwu (Show the world God’s beauty) 

Beautiful, smart and respectful. Ziora was that child, the ideal daughter. The child used as a reference for other kids. 

She had lines falling in pleasant places; as a growing kid in school, at her workplace and even family as she married quite early. 

Those lines apparently disagreed in her marriage. 

“Baby, how are you feeling?” Lotanna asked in a dejected tone. Men are believed to be stronger in trying situations, he tried to be strong for them even though sadness was clearly plastered all over him.

“The same” Ziora responded and sobbed in a broken voice, the words tasted bitter in her mouth. 

They held each other and stared. They knew they shared the same sadness; it was the fourth time after all. 

Each time came with no defined explanation as to why they kept losing their baby. 

Ziora made a decision to quit trying, atleast anytime soon. She became more empty after each procedure done to remove the pregnancy tissue from her uterus after each miscarriage. She was tired, genuinely tired. 

A year and half later, she decided they could try again. Her husband, Lotanna knew better than to have expectations, he advised Ziora not to either. 

They only excitement he intended to feel is the moment the baby is to be delivered, right there in the labour room. That’s if, it wouldn’t be miscarried yet again. 

Ziora was determined just like her other pregnancies,  she took all of her appointments more seriously. Down to her diet plan, exercising and work; everything was in tune. 

Lotanna as usual was very supportive. His indifference didn’t last long as he hovered like a bee that discovered honey around her whenever he was home. 

Fear and exhilaration seared his mind as Ziora’s belly grew up to the seventh month. It was the highest it had gone. All they had was hope. 

This baby is about to stay or not??