As I held my newborn baby in my arms, I could not help but sigh. My wife, Tabitha and baby were safe at home. I had sent her to the Central Hospital about a week ago to deliver our baby, much to Tabitha’s displeasure. She had complied, however, and had stayed in the hospital till she was delivered of her baby. I was happy to see them again. But that scar… I couldn’t bring myself to look at it yet. In fact, I couldn’t bring myself to look at Tabitha in the same way ever again. I felt so betrayed by that scar!
Prior to her pregnancy, Tabitha had been porcelain perfect: not even a hint of an injury could be seen on her body. She was perfect, and I had gloried in that perfection. She had all the curves to make other women green, a dazzling white smile to put the sun to shame, and a musical laughter which could clear the darkest clouds of depression. Tabitha was the perfect hourglass. I had always been proud to be seen in her company, and although she was the reserved sort, I managed to weasel my way with her to take her out to functions.
Then we had finally conceived after trying for two years into our marriage. It wasn’t a difficult one for her although I carried on some of the pregnancy symptoms. She didn’t do weird things like crave for coconut milk with cassava flakes and waakye at midnight. Yet, her due date came and passed and I became excessively worried, hence that decision to have forced her to the hospital.
Now I am not a woman, obviously, but I know that there is only one way of having children: they all pass through the ‘under’ into the world. That was a significant event, a rite of passage of sorts for a woman: the fact that she could push her own baby into the world was evidence that she was a powerful woman to reckon with. I don’t know how they go about the pushing and I have no idea what goes on in the labour room but any other way apart from the natural way was going to be problematic for the mother and/or child. I had heard of a woman who underwent a surgery to get a baby and the baby ended up being an abnormal child. I had also heard of another woman who could never walk again because she didn’t push her baby but rather had it taken out of her. Some time during Tabitha’s pregnancy, a nurse friend of mine had told me in passing that sometimes, a pregnant woman would be operated on to save the mother and the baby if the labour is taking too long or there are complications. A surgery might also be considered if the woman is above 35 years old or has health issues like hypertension or placenta previa. I didn’t even know the thing was called a cesarean section! But here my wife was, telling me all about it so shamelessly. If only she knew what I was thinking of her.
“Ezra, are you listening to me?” my wife’s voice broke through my thoughts. Judging from the puzzled expression on her face, I guessed she was expecting a response. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked you if you wanted to see it.” She repeated.
“See what?” I asked, lost.
“The place of incision. Do you want to see it? I want you to take a picture of it for me.”
Goodness! What do I say? “Uuh, let me get you some food first. I don’t want you going hungry. I’ll be right back.” I left her in the hall, feeling her gaze on my back. I’m not ready, I’m not ready, I kept whispering to myself. I can’t bear any blemish on the skin I knew to be perfect. I’d had to deal with her stretch marks which, in all honesty, I hadn’t gotten over yet. I definitely wasn’t ready for this new one.
That’s how I avoided her scar for a week. When it was time to take the baby to begin his immunizations, I had no option but to go with her. I am her ever-supportive husband after all. During our consultation with the doctor who says he’s Tablus, I set to ask a few questions of my own after my wife’s concerns. I was in for a shock.
“Doctor”, my wife began, “how soon can I go about my normal activities?”
“My dear, you have been through a major surgery. Although you didn’t get tired from pushing, your body has gone through a lot and it needs time to heal. Don’t rush the process. Meanwhile, you cannot lift objects heavier than your baby. You have my number; call me anytime.” The doctor concluded with a wink and turned to me, “You should have questions…”
“Ah yes, I do. To begin with, how and why did my wife make this decision without my consent?” Tabitha tried to interject but I stopped her.
Dr. Tablus replied, “I do believe it’s between you two. She had a choice to make to save herself and your baby or lose her life or your baby’s. I think she made the right choice.”
“Fine. What about all the things I heard about women who go through operation? Will there be any post-surgery complications?” I could sense waves of surprise from my wife but I was beyond stopping. I had to know.
“There may be complications from a surgery. Here at Central Hospital, we try our best to do our best on the job. However, if the patient refuses to comply with instructions given to her, I’m not sure we can be blamed. For instance, I have just told your wife to relax and to not lift heavy objects. If she chooses to be lifting those things and going about her duties as if nothing had happened, there could be an internal rupture. That can cause internal bleeding which might necessitate another surgery to save her. True, many women have died from post-delivery complications, but there’s absolutely everything we can do if the issue is reported early. So, Ezra, my assignment for you is to closely monitor your wife. If you or she notices anything odd in her general wellbeing, call me immediately or rush her to the hospital for treatment. Many women have died because they didn’t take certain symptoms seriously after delivery. Too much pain in the incision area, unusual discharge from the vaginal area, feeling exhausted after very little effort, headaches that won’t go away… Those things need to be reported immediately to save the mother. The baby is fine. Surgery did not cut off any part of the body as many people believe. You can see for yourself that the baby is healthy and whole. However, you have to report immediately if there are any unusual signs on the baby like sallow skin, lethargy, or fever.”
“What about the scar? Will it disappear forever?” That was one of my most pressing concerns. My wife had been too perfect to have been ruined by that scar. Ha!
Dr. Tablus smiled. “The wound will heal. We will check it when she comes for her sixth-week visit. However, she must report if she notices any foul smell or discharge from the incision area. She should clean it well every day…”
“Doctor,” I cut in, “answer my question.”
“The disappearance of the scar depends on your wife’s body. However, it’s below the waistline so her bikinis can cover it when it’s healed. Don’t worry, Ezra. The CS has not deformed her for life. You can still have more children, and on the bright side, you still have a tight ‘entertainment area’.” He aired the quotation marks and smiled.
I had nothing more to ask. I looked at my wife, who hadn’t said a word since I cut her. God, she was strong. And beautiful. The doctor had given me a lot to think about. We thanked him and walked out of his office.
Tabitha was silent on our way home. I let her be. When we got home and we put the baby to sleep, however, I went into the bedroom with her. The first thing I did was to give her a supportive hug. She had made a split-second decision to save our baby and I had been childish about it. Her body had endured so much and I was afraid of the scar. Softly, I said, “May I see?”
With a smile of relief, she disengaged from me and began peeling the articles of clothing from her, and for the first time in a long time I beheld the wonder that was my wife, the stretch marks that showed what she had endured for ten months and more, and the scar that had brought forth my little bundle of joy. I’ll never look at her the same way again.
