As published on February 3, 2014
Millennium Development Goal 5 is about improving Maternal Health. MDG 5, as is commonly known, is ‘the heart’ of the MDGs because it is almost impossible to meet the overall goal of reducing poverty without improving maternal health.
When I witness the staggering rates of maternal deaths and their causes, I cannot simply stand by and pretend it is just ‘business as usual’. I refuse to be silent; I must speak up and do my part, however small. I hear these stories told in passing, as if they are just another topic of idle conversation: a woman goes to work, starts bleeding, is rushed from one hospital to another, the doctor is nowhere to be found, and she bleeds to death. These stories haunt me. They make my heart race so fiercely that sometimes it hurts just to breathe.
Globally, approximately 350,000 girls and women die from complications due to pregnancy and childbirth every year, while 10-20 million experience serious injuries, including lasting disabilities. And you know what? Each death represents a family’s loss of a sister, daughter, partner, mother, or friend! This is what I mean from proven studies and research:
- Women’s deaths and poor health can push families further into poverty through lost income. Remember, women are also income earners, and their income is more likely to go toward food and other family necessities.
- Children, especially daughters who lose their mothers at a young age, often leave school early and may become sexually active earlier than girls with mothers who survive.
- Newborns whose mothers die are 3 to 10 times more likely to die before their second birthday than newborns whose mothers survive.
You might wonder why I am so passionate about maternal health, even though I am not—and never will be—a medical professional. The answer lies in a story, a deeply personal and sorrowful story involving myself, my sister Doreen, and my late aunt Everlyne, whose memory I hold close to my heart.
For today, I will write about my story. I will write about my sister’s and my aunt’s stories later.
When I found out I was pregnant in December 2012, confusion and fear washed over me. I cried my heart out because it was unplanned, but soon enough, joy blossomed within me, and I began to call myself ‘the pregnant mama with swag’!
I began to picture my baby’s angelic smile, his tiny hands, and his soft lips—it felt magical. I called him ‘my Little Sunshine, my honey bunch’. He seemed to adore the song “From This Moment” by Shania Twain. Every time I sang it, he kicked with such joy that I knew we had a special bond. He was my world, my companion; we shared everything, from conversations to schoolwork and even house chores.
Enjoying my baby bump
I embraced a healthy lifestyle, filling my days with fruits, vegetables, water, and long walks. I never missed an antenatal appointment. I took my calcium and iron supplements faithfully, and when high blood pressure crept in, Aldomine became part of my daily routine.
But then the unthinkable happened. On June 14th, a cool Friday morning, just a day after my doctor had advised a 14-day bed rest, I felt sharp, contraction-like pains in my lower abdomen. Like any anxious first-time mother, I returned to my doctor, who reassured me they were ‘just normal contractions’. He told me to go home, rest, and wait for the pains to subside.
I took a cab home, enduring the intensifying pain for over an hour and a half, trapped in Nairobi’s relentless traffic. When I finally arrived, I was alone—my husband was away on official duty overseas.
Before I could rest or even think about eating my favorite fish, I went to the bathroom—and what I saw left me in shock. I was bleeding heavily, my white panties stained bright red. I called my doctor immediately, and he urged me to get to the nearest hospital at once, warning that bleeding is dangerous for any pregnant woman. Kenyatta National Hospital was closest, so with the help of my kind neighbor and his wife, I checked myself in. One day, I will share the stories of the women I met there, each one fighting her own battle.
After nearly three hours of relentless pain and bleeding, I underwent an emergency cesarean section. My little sunshine, just over 29 weeks old, was born silent. For months, my world froze. Everything happened so quickly, and the more I tried to make sense of it, the more lost I felt. My body ached, and the emotional and psychological wounds ran deep. Some parts of me changed for the better, others for the worse. This is why, after being given another chance at life, I refuse to stay silent. I will speak out and advocate for safe motherhood because every woman is someone’s mother, sister, daughter, aunt, or friend. When we hear about maternal death, it could be any one of them—it could be ours.
My son could have been 5 months 2 weeks today. All I can say is: ‘Rest in peace, my little sunshine; mummy loves you even in death’.
What is your reaction?
