I'm more than just the second wife

31

That was six months ago when we sat on that mountain and made a life changing decision and thereafter made love out in the wilderness. That was the last happy memory we shared that wasn't tainted with heartbreak and sorrow. I was now sitting at Sindile's grave after having cleaned it up and I was talking to her. It's been a month since I've been home and my parents haven't asked me why. I look at them every meal time. The question dying to escape their lips but instead they let me be and for that I'm grateful. My dad is particularly cautious because I guess in his mind he thinks anything he'll say that'll make me uncomfortable or unhappy will have me running for the hills. I want to assure him that he is my father and he still has every right to reprimand me when I'm wrong, have uncomfortable conversations with me and such but for now I let him be uncomfortable in hopes I'll keep myself from having this dreaded conversation with them. Sindile is the first I'm about to tell about why I'm home.

"As soon as we got to Pretoria we booked an appointment with a Reproductive endocrinologist. We got slotted in the Tuesday of that week. I started hormonal treatment and a month later we had the first IVF. It was explained that all or none of them might implant and we understood that. I didn't have any expectations and two weeks after we found out that none of them implanted. I wasn't deterred. I didn't think much of it. We tried again a month later. One of the eggs actually nestled in my uterus. And a week turned to two, two to three and finally a month. We were relieved. But our joy was short lived because at midnight I was woken up by excruciatingly painful cramps. I yelled out to Yanda and he woke up. I was covered in a pool of my baby's blood. I remember crying out hysterically. Yelling at Yanda to do something. What could he have done? I don't know but in that moment he and everything could have saved my child.

Sindile I thought I'd never no greater pain than losing you but I was wrong. The pain of their loss was worse than any emotion I've felt. He rushed me to the hospital and the doctor insisted on an ultrasound. I didn't want one because I didn't want to hear the silence that'd bounce back and mock me when I didn't hear the sound of my baby's heartbeat echoing in the room or feel the feeling of my heart swell at the love I felt for a human that wasn't even fully formed yet. And yet I sat through the whole process, feeling numb, unfulfilled and like I'd failed. 

The last IVF wretched my soul out. God waited for my hope to be renewed. Any shadow of doubts be extinguished. He waited longer before he took my children away from me. All four of them. Three weeks after the previous miscarriage we tried again despite the doctor's and Yanda's reservations and instead of two fertilised eggs I insisted the inject double that in. I was certain at least one, just one would
take and as luck would have it all four of them did. Again a month turned into two and then the first week passed, the second and the third and the fourth and last week that'd mark the end of my first trimester came and at its end it took my children along with it.

I pushed! I shouldn't have insisted. I wasn't meant to carry my own babies. Hear their first cry, Have them placed on my chest as the umbilical cord that connected us for their first nine months of life is cut and their wondering eyes that barely stay open stare at me expecting me to guide them through life, love them unconditionally, wish that I could shield them from the cruelties of this world but can't but I did. This is one thing I wanted just for me. I wanted to be selfish just this one time and it happened! I was going to be a mother! Life was growing inside of me, I wondered what they'd look like. Who they'd take after. I wondered about their personality. I could swear no one was as excited to be carrying a little life inside them. Yanda and I were actually thinking of getting Zanda books to ease her into the idea of having a baby around. I'd looked up ideas of telling our families the news.

This time when it happened we were in the pool. We like Zanda had insisted were playing splash, with rules she came up with at every turn so she wouldn't lose. I remember it was a warm day and we spent most of it in the pool. Our laughter echoed out in the yard. It was a perfect day in my eyes until the familiar pain crippled my abdomen. I caught Yanda's eyes and in my mind I remember wondering why he wasn't doing anything to help when I was yelling out to him but now I recall the words being at the tip of my tongue but not quite being able to articulate them.

The blood spread all around me making Zanda cry out in hysterics trying to break out of Yanda's hold to swim to me but he held onto her. The pain was familiar yet unlike anything I'd felt before. It felt renewed , raw and fresh. I wanted to weep, scream in agony and anger but I just couldn't find my voice. I remember praying, praying to God to save my children even though I knew they were gone and then in the last moments of losing them where I knew God had failed me yet again I asked you to make room for them in your new home. I know they're safe with you and that you'll love them like your own."

Yanda wanted to take me to the hospital to get cleaned up but I refused. I'd had enough of hospitals, nursaries, NICUs and pregnant women so that Sunday whilst Yanda and Zanda  drove to Amy's house to drop Zanda off I packed a back and came home. I didn't want to face my husband or my little Zanda. I left a small note telling them I'm safe. I just needed to breathe and be with you."

"Sindile..." I found myself chocking on a wave of tears "...you said to me I'll get what I deserve. Is this what I deserve? Pain and sorrow? You shouldn't have let me carry them if you'd eventually take them away!" I yelled hurling the vase I had in my hand at a nearby tree and it shattered into pieces and for the first time in a while I let myself cry, hurt, and feel the anger I had towards everything and everyone.

When I'd finally calmed down and felt I'd emptied the overflowing well within me I walked home. The pain was still there as raw as the day I had my miscarriage but the anger has simmered down and I didn't blame the world for the loss of my children.

When I walked into the kitchen looking a royal mess that I was with ibomvu smeared all over my face and one of my mom's old pinafore I was met with my parents sitting across from each other having tea and as soon as I walked in the conversation seized and I knew they'd been talking about me. Now that I'd spoken to my sister I felt ready to let them in. I pulled a chair and sat next to baba. Mama didn't even shout that I was walking on her tiled floors with my dirty feet. They just sat silently waiting for me to speak. I opened my mouth to utter a word but I choked on another wave of tears.

I tried again to get the words out but the tears wouldn't let me. My dad got up and held me in an embrace. That just seemed to unhinge the gates on the flood and I cried into his chest. I felt like I was 5 again and I'd fallen and scraped my knee and I'd wail because I knew dad would come out into the yard to see what was happening at the sound of my distress and he'd scoop me into his arms and calm me down. Only now my wound wouldn't start scabbing in a couple of hours and forgotten by noon I'd carry this ail all my life and I just didn't know how to live with it. One thing hadn't changed though. The comfort of being in my father's arms and feeling like I was safe from this cruel world. I cried until I felt I had no tears left to cry and my eyes could barely open. I hated the helpless looks on my parents faces.

I knew that if it was even remotely possible they'd take my pain away but they couldn't but I took comfort in knowing they related to my pain even if they didn't know it. They too had lost a child, they know of the gaping hole they leave behind, maybe theirs is greater than mine because they'd met their child, watched them grow, they had memories of them I was just hurt by not knowing the possibilities of how my children would have turned out.

I was now hiccuping and the words were lost on me. "Come baby, go lie down." Mama whispered her voice cracking as well but she tried to hold herself together for my sake. They both led me to their room and helped me into the bed and tucked me in. "I had two miscarriages." I grogged out in a hoarse voice as my eyes fluttered shut and I fell into a deep sleep. My first good sleep in a while. The last thing I remember seeing and hearing is my mom giving into her emotions and crying into my fathers arms. My father was no better. His eyes glistened with unshed tears.