DOWN- Episode three

The story so far. Click   here  for episode one and right here for episode two
 DOWN
The heart is deceitful above all things,
And desperately sick;
Who can understand it?
Jeremiah 17:9 (ESV)
 
Episode three
 
“How is my wife?” Andrew asked the nurse he had grabbed by the arm as she tried to walk past him.
“She’s fine but she’s sleeping.”
“What about my son?” He said ‘my son’ with so much pride and fulfillment. He made it! The Lord made it happen for him! He had a son.
“He’s fine too.”
“Can I see him?”
“No sir.”
“Why not?” Andrew was becoming worried. It had been about an hour since he heard his baby’s cry, why were they stopping him from seeing him? He sensed it, something was awry.
“Please tell me,” He flicked rivulets of sweat off his chin “is there something wrong with my child?”
“I have to go now. If there is an issue, the doctor would be in the best place to pass the information. If you would excuse me, sir, I have to get back to my work.”
 
Andrew let go of the nurse and watched her walk away, his eyes on her flat shoes that tapped gently on the terrazzo hospital floor. His gut was folding, his head flapping inside. Now he was sure of it, something was wrong. And what was more sickening than knowing that something was wrong, was not knowing what was wrong. The suspense and speculation made him feel like he had both arms tied to different horses and both legs tied to different donkeys, all animals making to forge in their individual direction. Pulling him to all sides, moving him nowhere, ripping apart, slowly. “Oh, God.”
 
He felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped and spun to the doctor who was standing behind him. He rushed about seven questions in less than twenty seconds and waited, heart jackhammering, for the response.
 
“Let’s go to my office.”
Oh great! Just what I needed. Your almighty problem-solving office. Isn’t the suspense enough? Tell me what I need to know immediately! His heart blared, but enervated by fear as he was, he docilely followed the lanky doctor to his spacey consulting room. He gripped the arm of the wingback chair the doctor offered him, with all his might.
 
“Out with already!” He meant that to be firm, but instead his voice sounded hollow.
“We observed some physical features on your son that gave grounds to our suspicions which we had to prove with an analysis of his chromosomes. And I’m sorry to say but your son has Down’s syndrome.”
 
Down’s syndrome? That didn’t sound completely unfamiliar, although it largely was, Andrew was sure he had heard of that before. Most probably on the television and he only knew the obvious; it was an anomaly.
 
“What is that?”
 
“Down’s syndrome is a congenital chromosomal defect, where there is a partial or complete third copy of the twenty-first autosome which is normally meant to be paired. Which is why it could be referred to as trisomy 21. It usu-”
 
Such a dramatic doctor. This is not even a big deal at all, and here he is delivering a lecture. Andrew thought, smiling.
 
“Just remove the extra chromosome and my son is good.”
 
The doctor was stricken by the hope in Andrew’s eyes. “I wish it was that simple, but sir, chromosomal defects, are without a cure. They can only be managed. Taking out the extra chromosome is impossible because it’s not just lying around somewhere in the child’s body, but is in its every single cell.”
 
This is getting serious in here. Without a cure? Managed? Every cell? Sounds like AIDS.
 
Andrew was sick of hearing the doctor’s nasal voice, it seemed to worsen his problems.
 
“You know what doctor? Google is such a useful thing, I would find all I need to know about it. But before then, can I see my son?”
 
“Sure”
 
Dr. Ehis led Andrew to the recovery room, where his wife was and his son also was, lying in a cot. When they entered the room, the neonate opened his eyes.
 
He had his father’s brown eyes, only that his slanted upwards and his iris had brush field spots, dots of grey in the substance of his iris, his nose was flat and wide; that had to be from Lovette. And his ears were two sizes smaller than his face. His tongue stuck out of his mouth. When he turned his eyes, Andrew almost freaked out. His eyes didn’t move together. Strabismus eyes, the doctor called it. But when the eyes rested on him, they did not move for a while and his mouth opened in what Andrew took to be a toothless grin, an instant connect.
 
Whose son is this? Cos I’m definitely not the father of this alien.
 
As Andrew walked out of the ward to the waiting room, he whipped out his phone. Safari to the rescue. DOWN SYNDROME. He punched into the browser.
 
As he surfed the different articles and pictures, the words jumped at him.
FREQUENCY: ONE OUT OF ONE THOUSAND
And Lord, you chose me to be that lucky one?
MENTAL RETARDATION. POOR SPEECH. SLOW GROWTH. ADULT HAS IQ= A NINE-YEAR-OLD’S. Oh, wow! EPILEPTIC SEIZURES. ACTH. SPEECH THERAPY. OCCUPATIONAL THERAPY. DUODENAL ATRESIA. HAPPY. STERILE
 
Andrew could take no more. He dropped the phone. By now, he was dripping with perspiration, breathless. If he was Lovette, he would do everything to make sure he never woke up from that sleep. Something had to be done. His first child couldn’t be a retard. And then it came. Dark, sinister, savage. But it was the solution to all the problems. The only solution. His resolve was growing and arrrrgggh! He needed a drink so bad!
 
****
 
Aiku Mojoyin Elizabeth made her way to a ward crammed with victims of an accident. She rounded a corner. One brief glance at the distressed, suited man, sitting on a chair by the corridor and she knew by her hellish instincts that he would be needing her ‘help’. Her blood warmed, her heart pumped. She wanted to have a word with him, she decided against it and decided to do her homework first.
 
Mojoyin used her position as a matron to gain access into Lovette’s file and the file of her newborn. Once again, her instincts did not fail. Now she was sure, now she could have a talk with Andrew.
 
Mojoyin started practicing as a nurse and midwife at the age of 21. She loved her job, particularly when she had to function as a midwife. Each child she helped in birthing was like a golden star appended to her shoulder, and she had many stars. She was trusted, she hardly ever had to deliver a stillborn and when she did, it was because the child died before labour.
 
Four years of purposeful and fulfilling service later, she would run into Monte, a hunk with piercing dark eyes at the hospital reception and a year later she would be dancing with him at her wedding reception. Life was beautiful with Monte, her job added colour to her living. The joy jounced when she had her first stillborn. Being a professional with years and years of polished practice, she knew what to do and when to do the right things so it was a shock, but she took it well. She was extra careful with her next pregnancy but she still had a stillborn. Birthing a dead child was traumatizing for every thinkable reason, firstly the labour pains were worse when she tried pushing because the child could not engage his head in moving out of the birth canal and then the depression that followed, it was horrid.
 
After the third stillborn in a row, Mojoyin woke from the effect the anaesthesia that was administered before the CS was carried out had on her, and told the doctor in a fit of frustration and resignation to carry out a hysterectomy on her.
 
The doctor wanted her husband’s consent first but Mojoyin wanted it done immediately. She said she knew what she wanted and she was sure her husband would not have a problem with it. She did not tell her husband this and when Monte found out, he could not stand Mojoyin any longer. Her decision to take out her womb without telling her husband and letting him find out from outside cost her her marriage.
 
 
She was left miserable, depressed, and hopeless. She craved death, madness, any escape from the avalanche of anguish she was lost in, but nothing helped. She had lost her man, three children and the hope of ever having another, it was too much for her. Why did God ever let her go through so much? What was her sin? She burrowed into her job, hoping to find the enthusiasm that came with the stress. She wanted the pleasure that made her pulse rise as she ran down hallways, trundling stretchers, as she arranged intravenous lines, administered injections, went on ward rounds or kept up with her patient’s recovery. Most of all, she wanted that surreal feeling of accomplishment that came with guiding another neonate out of a birth canal, receiving them into the world. But all of that had slipped through the back door.
 
Everything in her job became bland, she had never felt so wan about anything, and the worst was when she was posted to maternity wards. Seeing babies made her insides freeze with pain, the glee on the mother’s face as her newborn nursed made her seethe with ineffable wrath. She became withdrawn, a loner, she pushed back anyone who dared come near with the thick walls of barbed wire she built around herself, only one thing was allowed through those walls; thoughts, dark thoughts, morbid thoughts. Thoughts of babies dying, dying slowly, gruesomely, dying in their mother’s arms, dying under the tires of a speeding car, dying with head crushed by a pounding pestle.
 
Initially the thoughts came as suggestions, she pushed them back, she got bored, welcomed the thoughts, she engaged them once, then again and again till they became her daily bread, till they became what woke her in the morning, what she dreamed of at night, what numbed the pain she would have felt while working in the day. As she received babies from a labouring mother, her heart willed them to die, she engaged those thoughts until they became her obsession. And when a patient had a stillborn or whenever a baby died, she was glad.
 
Then she realized having children die accidentally was never really hard. A little delay during the labour and the child got too exhausted to survive, a little more force while receiving the slicked head and it became dismembered from the body, administer a little dose of a drug and the baby went still. Accidents. Achievements. This became the new star on her shoulder, her new reason to live, ‘her purpose’. This was her way of fighting God for all the unfair things he did to her. She would send as many children as she could back to God, as soon as he sent them down to earth. Her payback to God, her service to the Devil.
 
Now 54 years old, Mojoyin had had years of practicing her new passion and she had several black stars to her shoulders.
 
Andrew lifted his eyes to see a portly woman about 5’7 feet approach him. She had a certain air about her, one he could not decipher. She did not look like the regular nurse. Over her white shirt and blouse, she had a sleeveless blue checkered gown. She wore a smile that was beautiful and her grey hair strands were pinned into a bouffant, as she approached him, he noticed the crinkles around her eyes. She was advanced in age but still looked beautiful. A matron?
 
“Hello Mr. Okwanze” She smiled down at him. Andrew was startled. Who is this woman?
 
“I don’t remember meeting you, ma’am”
 
She waved him off “Let’s talk about your baby, I guess that is the most pressing issue at hand right now, or am I wrong?”
 
Andrew gave her a once over. She was probably acquainted with his wife’s case. Mojoyin didn’t wait for his response.
 
“Down’s syndrome is a whole lot to deal with. Your son most probably has an atrial septal defect, VSD or AV canal defect. Basically a hole in his heart which would require a surgery, most likely outside the country. There are several other complications that accompany this condition, have you heard of Hirschprung’s disease? Well, it’s not uncommon for children with Down’s, and it also requires a surgery, else the child would not be able to defecate. There are respiratory disorders and a whole lot more. I don’t know how much you have found about the condition, but trust me, it would drill a large hole in your pocket. And do you know the worst part? There is a high chance that child would not exceed 10 years on earth and trust me, I’m being optimistic here. This child is bound to die, but you can choose how much pain you want to handle before that happens.”
 
She paused, watching him as her words hit the fertile ground in him.
 
“So what do you suggest ma’am?” before Mojoyin could respond, Andrew’s phone started ringing. It was Modupe.
 
“Hello Dupe”
 
“Andrew, how are you? How is the baby? How is Lovette?”
 
“Er.. Th..”
 
“Hello, can you hear me?”
 
“Yes, I can. We had a stillborn” Andrew lied and Mojoyin smiled, she couldn’t wait to lay her hands on her spade.
“Jesus!” Modupe yelped in anguish and Andrew squeezed his eyes shut, more from the effect of the voice within than the effect Modupe’s voice had on him.
“Dupe, we would have to talk later.” He hung up while she was saying something.
 
“Now that is what we are going to do. That baby never lived.”
 
“But the doctor knows he is alive”
 
“Doctor Ehis, right?” Andrew nodded, she snorted. “Leave that to me. Just give me a moment” She walked away to return a couple of minutes later.
 
“The way is clear, go get him.”
 
“What are we going to do?”
 
“You don’t have to worry. Just leave it to me to handle this neatly”
 
Andrew walked into the private lying-in ward, picked the baby from its cot and glanced at his wife who was sleeping peacefully. His conscience slithered but he remembered Mojoyin’s words. No one had to know the child lived, not even Lovette. The baby put a weak fist against the torso of Andrew’s shirt, a clinging gesture? Was he trying to clutch a lifeline? Andrew glanced down at him and for the first time, he saw the child for what it was, his son, a person, a part of him. He saw that regardless of whatever ailed it, it was a human like himself. He walked fast, not wanting to think, and handed the baby over to Mojoyin. Her finger had not yet touched the baby when it started squealing so loudly Andrew had no doubt it knew it was endangered. Andrew looked away, steeling his mind to believe he did not have a choice.
 
Andrew went back to the ward and sat by Lovette, forcing down thoughts of what might be done to his son.
 
“Where is the baby?”
 
Andrew was startled. Lovette sat up, stress lines etched on her face, her throat was sore from the after effect of the breathing tube that was shoved down her lungs while was unconscious under the effect of general anaesthesia.
 
“Lovette, you’ve come round” He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. His hands were cold, like your heart. A voice in his head said
 
“Yes, I have. Where is my son?”
 
“I’m sorry dear, we had a stillborn”
 
“No, we did not!” Her words were firm and separate, distinct in a way that spoke of assurance.
 
“I know denial is part of the process bu-”
 
“My son is very much alive! I’m not in denial. Call me the doctor.” Andrew was scared his wife would find out the truth and loathe him for the rest of her life. His insides were quivering now. What had he done? As he went to get the doctor, he scanned the hallways for Mojoyin, hoping to take his child back. What had been wrong with him in the first place?
Lovette would not listen to even the doctor.
 
“Doctor don’t give me that! I held him in my hands before I laid back to rest, the nurse who took him from me said she was going to clean him up.”
 
Lovette sprang up, snapping loose the intravenous line that was connected to her wrist, not minding the pain that racked her body.
 
“Andrew, say something. My son is not dead. These people are up to something”
 
Doctor Ehis was becoming afraid of Lovette’s hysteria. He did not want to give in to Mojoyin’s demands in the first place, but she had such inexplicable power that rendered his will useless. Now he was in danger. Ehis, do something!
 
“Madam, if you would be calm, I would explain exactly what happened.”
There was a pause. “The child died while we were running some tests on him” Andrew nodded, hoping his wife would take the lie and be still. “We thought it was best to bury him before you come round just to relieve your pain”
 
Lovette looked from Ehis to her husband. Her heart was plummeting, her eyes goggling. Was her son really dead? But the guilt and fear in Andrew’s face gave him away. Something was up.
 
“Andrew is this true?”
 
“Y- yes”
 
He couldn’t even look her in the face.
 
“I don’t know what this is, but if you don’t produce my son in the next ten minutes, trust me, I would match straight to your director’s office to tell him all I know, and that includes your name Dr. Ehis Mark” Lovette was rambling. What did she know asides the fact that her son was probably not dead? What tenable proof did she have? But Dr. Ehis was scared to the bones. If he had a case with the hospital director, it might cost him his practicing license.
 
He stepped out, dragging Andrew along.
 
“We have to find Ms. Mojoyin. Why did you give her your child? Please don’t drag me into your mess.” He knew he was in it already.
 
The search started. Every hallway, ward and possible place. No trace of Mojoyin. Cold sweat broke out on Andrew’s skin. He could not hold back the burning tears.
 
God please… God please… He did not even know what to say to the Lord.
 
Back in Lovette’s private ward, she prayed in tongues, still sure her son was somewhere, alive.
 
Meanwhile, someone picked a spade from the trunk of her KIA vehicle and headed into the darkness of the mortuary, a gleeful smile on her face.
 
****
 
Questions for the week:
*Mojoyin served humanity with a noble profession, she was devout, why should God allow life turn a mean face on her? Can you blame her for choosing to fight God back? Is bitterness ever justifiable?
 
*What are your thoughts on Andrew’s drastic decision?
 
Thank you. Your readership is highly appreciated. And your participation in answering the question for the week would also highly be appreciated.
 
To answer the question, make a post on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter, tag me –I would drop my handles now- and don’t forget the hashtags #CFCDown and #CFCDowntheconversation. Please participate, your opinion matters a great deal.
 
Instagram – @official_mophie
Facebook- Goodness Adegbola
Twitter- @AdegbolaMo
 
NEXT ON DOWN
 
Andrew’s day was an arid stretch of purposeless time tautened by anxiety and fear. He wished he was not on leave, he wished his mother was around, wished Lovette didn’t loathe him so much, wished she didn’t have to leave, he wished for many things and yet again the old desire for alcohol reared a head that Andrew promptly squashed.
 
Drunkenness for Andrew was the sin that easily beset him since he had developed the habit in his teenage. He had to trust God after his conversion to desist from it. It was hardest, the fight against the temptation, after his relationship with Bimpe ended. Bars, pubs, and bottles literally beckoned on him then, but as he yielded to the outworking of the Holy Spirit, he was able to stand.
 
Andrew walked from the room to the kitchen, he opened the fridge, snapped it shut, opened the deep freezer and dropped the lid, nothing appealed to him. He went to the living room, nothing on the TV interested him. Throwing down a throw pillow angrily, he stood up and went back to the room. What could he do to kill time? Then he remembered Bimpe’s complimentary card.
 
He went to the closet to find the suit he wore on the day of his sons’ birth and in the pocket of the trouser, he found the card. It had floral patterns and words etched in shiny cursives. He only needed the phone number.
 
Bimpe picked up on the first ring and that made Andrew know she had been with her phone.
 
“Hello”
 
“Hey, it’s Andrew. Am I on to Bimpe?” Of course, he had already recognized her voice.
 
“Hey Andrew. You know I thought you were never going to reach out. I gave you my card over a week ago.”
 
“I apologize. Things have been really one kind.”
 
“I can imagine. Is that why you sound so… so broken?”
 
“I am broken.” He blurted.
 
“Trust me, we all are. Some of us have just learned to wear it with swagger.” She said with a self-mocking laugh. Andrew was pleased to hear her being real with him. At least this time, she was not caught up in her properness.
 
“I hope I am not interrupting your work?”
 
“No, I still have a few minutes to the end of lunch hour”
 
Andrew started to pour out his heart about all that had been going on in his life recently, surprising himself by the ease with which he shared his burden with her. She listened, like old times. But it didn’t last so long.
 
“Andrew, I’m really sorry. I have to go now. But we should pick this up later. What do you say, we meet up this evening?”
 
He was shocked, glad and a bit nervous. “What do you think I would say?”
 
She laughed. “Alright then. I would text you the venue and time.”
 
“But would your husband be comfortable with this?”
 
“He is not around. Bye.” But that does not answer the question
 
He sighed and then smiled. At least now, he had something to look forward to. He wondered briefly if it was okay for them to meet up, what would their meeting turn out to be? There was only one way to find out.