I was 39 weeks pregnant. Following my previous pregnancy history, my doctor advised I undergo an elective CS. This meant I had to go for admission one day before the D-Day.
So a time like today four years ago, with my neatly done twists, a whole suitcase of my clothes and those of baby and my lovely crew, I checked into Kenyatta National Hospital Private Wing. I carried even a pillow by the way and a nice book to keep me company as I wait.
It was a sweet moment knowing that by early morning the next day, I was going to finally meet my prince. After so much laughter with my crew, they prayed for me and left me in the able hands of the nurses who were so so lovely.
No sooner than my crew left that my mind started racing. The ghosts of 14th June 2013 resurrected in my mind. I was suddenly too scared. What if I leave the hospital empty-handed again? What if I die considering that death by delivery cases are still quite high in Kenya? What if they steal my baby when I am still under anaesthesia? what if… The more I thought about all the worst scenarios the more fear crept in. I made so many calls and wrote so many text messages that night. I instructed my husband and my sister to be in the hospital by 4am the next morning. They tried convincing me that I will be fine but I could hear none of that. My heart was racing; I was too afraid; I was sweating and shivering at the same time then I remembered what Philippians 4:6 tells me:
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
I read that verse aloud several times while breathing in and out between the readings. I then relaxed, whispered a prayer thanking God for saving me during delivery and for blessing me with the gift of motherhood again. I was now ready for a special date with my little piece of heaven…