I can't be pregnant, must I now calculate back to pick a dad?
Another child isn't such a bad idea, even though my son gave up on asking me for a Chinese sister. Only, I imagine if there is to be another screaming piccanini swinging on my left boob, punctured as it is, I should at least not be surprised. I am 36 for crissake, and actually pull my own panties off!
So, you can imagine the drama at the hospital casualty department this past weekend when a nice little old doctor told me my pregnancy test is positive... and she wasn't stuttering.
The ambulance had dropped me off at a maternity hospital. And I was on my period. Periods, the part where you have wasted two more good eggs without reproducing.
I was using all my mathematics and accounting skills. Statistics. Biology. Nuclear science. My majors is research, so I'm trying to gather all data on my sex life and...
"No. I am not pregnant. Me? No! Hhhayi. What?"
"Yes you are darling...," she said, showing a file written in scribbles, symbols and dots - triggering a staring contest because I wasn't about to blink, or breathe, again.
I had cried and screamed for a good three hours before arriving at the hospital, so I had no emotion left in me. Now I was wondering if I was dizzy because I was literally bled out, or because of morning sickness?
Also, this was bizarre!
The how? The when? The who? Why!
I wished I could call and ask someone like, "on a scale of condom to baby shower, how many of your sperms are Olympic swimmers?" But, but...
I was crying, with no tears rolling of course. And possibly just looking like a childish denialist fool to the healthcare workers, because - wait for it - "...then why did you book an abortion if you're gonna come and say you're not pregnant!"
Hhayi ke, that was an opportune moment to faint. And I have fainted exceptionally well plenty times before. Safely even. Usually just minor contusions and my hair remains on fleek.
But no, this time around my fainting talents went on leave!
I didn't collapse. Nothing. Just sat there, with my braids looking like a wet sangoma. I was feeling defeated because - wow!
So I'm pregnant and I'm not keeping it? I think I was traumatised for both myself and the unknown father of this baby. It was all just too much.
Then I asked for water in the hope that a glass might build up some tears to cleanse this nightmare.
For a moment I doubted myself. But a whole pregnancy and a termination? Then the doctor called my name.
"Miss Sibiya, it says right here on the file..." Ahhhh! That's it. We figured out that I am not even Miss Sibiya. There was no immaculate conception. The only thing growing on my uterus is fibroids, and there is no paternity dispute over them!
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