THE HOLE CALLED HOME (PART 3)

…maybe it was beyond jealousy, for on the exact day my pregnancy clocked seven months. I had argued with him for continuously coming back late at night. I had to know what kept him outside that late but he replied with series of hits and slaps.

It was an unpleasant experience.

I have watched women being bullied; I never thought it would be me someday. Also, I have watched bullied women stand up and fight back for themselves. Well, this I did! Anger got the best of me, more like it bundled me with all of it and left me to explode. I flared up, hitting Jerry’s chest as hard as I could. Holding my hands together with his large palm, he flung me to the sofa and made his way to the door. I stood up and challenged him; “Don’t even think of stepping a foot out of this house… you will come back and kill me as you have planned.” He stopped and stared at me. I am certain my guts marvelled him. As my eyes met with his, I cursed the first day we met. I was getting tired of everything; I could hear myself breathe irregularly and very heavy. “This isn’t good for my condition” I thought. However, watching Jerry step out of the house was much more painful. I reached out for the remote and aimed his head. He rushed at me, without thinking I ran to the dining room, shielding myself with the chair and also threatening to destroy him with it. As I held the chair up ahead of my stomach, in seconds, he kicked the chair towards me with his left foot and walked out without looking back… my hips came down through the air hitting the tiled floor whereas the chair forcefully came in contact with my stomach. I could neither scream nor shout out in pain. I expressed the physical torture groaning. It felt like the world and all within it were at war with me. I laid my back down while breathing deeply and i wept silently. The floor was so uncomfortable that I tried facing different views; side, back and front. I longed for a better position but this was an experience I have never felt before. My back ached, my waist was on a different pain level; it was on fire… my stomach was tightening and hardening at the same time. My situation worsened by minutes; then, it dawned on me that I was contracting. I knew a day like that would come but I expected it on the 37th week.

I had pulled my phone from the pocket of my short bubu dress to call my parents. I called them severally but got no reply. It was few minutes past one in the morning! How would I expect them to be awake? But I needed help; hence, I called Auggy twice, still no reply. I raised my back from the floor and leaned it on the leg of the dining table. As I endured every pain, I could see my life coming to an end with no hope… nothing!

My phone rang! I slowly leaned to pick it up; “hello Auggy” I muttered. “Danne, are you okay? Where are you?” He demanded. I don’t know how to describe the sound effect of groaning and talking at the same time but know that I pleaded; “come, please”. At that point, I cried out… letting every pain out. Auggy advised that I engage in a breathing exercise, breathing in and out. The contraction was regular, the pain was intense and I was getting tired. I dragged myself on the floor, moving towards the door. “We have to survive” I said to myself. I paused at intervals to breathe in and out. In less than half an hour, Auggy rushed in with my parents. I was taken to the hospital.

I survived, my baby… a girl… she made it out easily but she never cried.

Life is indeed an irony! My recent experience proved that one shouldn’t long for things that will make them cry but watching my fair baby girl, I wanted her to cry… to prove that she was alive.

What’s worse than my life? Before sunrise, I have seen the one I love batter me and crushed my heart, I have felt unbearable physical pain and I have seen the lifeless body of my new born. Why else should I live?

I was too weak to cry, too weak to express how my heart burns… with disgust, I muttered; “Jerry… Jerry… Jerry…”

WATCH OUT FOR NEXT PART

THE HOLE CALLED HOME (PART 1)
THE HOLE CALLED HOME (PART 2)

PHOTO CREDIT: SEVILA PHOTOFILMS

Written by Umahi Uju Vicky
Talking about myself welcomes me into the world of confusion, I mean, how else can I say that I am a passionate volunteer, a flexible teacher, a life loving blogger and Umahi Obianujunwa Victoria!