“Babe! Take me to the hospital!” I cried as labour pains hit me hard again. My whole waist and abdomen were on fire.
My husband grabbed a pair of scissors to help me give birth to our baby in a bathtub because going to the hospital was against his church doctrine.
I shut my eyes and opened them again, hoping it was a dream, but the labour pains were real.
“What are you trying to do? With scissors? Take me to the hospital!” I shouted, biting into my lower lip to ease the bone-wracking pain.
“Allow me to bring our baby into this world. In the Bible, was there any hospital mentioned? I will help you have your child. All you have to do is push,” he said and proceeded to fill the tub with water.
My phone began to ring, and he went to get it for me. Thankfully, it was my mother. “Are you due yet?” she asked me.
“It just started this evening,” I cried, my whole body shaking in pain. “But he said going to the hospital is against his church doctrine!”
He quickly grabbed the phone from me and said, “We will be fine, ma.”
“If anything happens to my daughter because of your useless church! In fact, I’m coming right now…” I overheard my mother say before she cut the call.
I was surprised to know that my husband knew how to check dilation, and he waited while fanning me with the cover of a book.
He said I was close to full dilation after the last check and promised me it would be a stress-free labour. He was acting like he had done this before.
When the pain hit me harder again, I angrily grabbed his collar and pulled him closer, warning him to take me to the hospital. “Are you a wizard? You’re not an expert in this! Take me to the hospital!” I cried.
But he had already made up his mind. Another contraction hit me hard, and before I knew it, I pushed with all my strength, screaming, my lips quivering, and I felt the head.
“Yes! We have the baby’s head. One more push,” he said, pressing on my stomach.
It came again, and I pushed, and my baby came out. He grabbed the scissors immediately and cut the cord, then carried the baby in his arms without properly securing the cord, and it slipped back into me.
I was too weak to talk, watching as he cleaned our baby. And that was when I remembered that there was something else missing—the placenta. It was still inside me. I was still in the tub. And my husband was no longer in the bathroom… with the baby.
He left me in the bathtub with the placenta still inside me and carried the baby I had just given birth to. I tried to stand up from the tub, but I couldn’t even move my legs. I clenched my teeth and tried to call him, all to no avail.
While I was still struggling, I heard my mother’s voice calling my name. I finally brightened up with hope. “Mum, I’m in the bathroom,” I said. Luckily, she knew her way around the house and quickly ran into the bathroom.
“Jesus! What happened?” she asked as she bent closer to me.
I told her what happened, and she quickly started to help me push out the placenta.
For the next ten minutes, I tried to push it out. That was when my husband entered.
He rushed in, saying, “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up!” but was shocked to find my mother there. We paid no attention to him and continued.
Eventually, I pushed out the placenta, but it didn’t come out alone—bl00_d followed.
“Oh my God! Let’s take her to the hospital,” my mother cried. Because the placenta took time to be delivered, I began to ble_ed, and I needed urgent attention from specialists at the hospital.
“Mama, we just had our baby safely. What is she going to the hospital to do?” my husband asked instead of helping me up.
I was angry but grew weaker. Didn’t he see that the water in the tub was turning dark red? Did he think my mother came with paint and poured it into the tub?
“Have you lost it? You want to gamble with my daughter’s life? Did you bring out the placenta after birthing the child?” my mother fired, and my husband went quiet.
She turned and tried to help me out of the tub, but I couldn’t even support myself. My legs were numb, and I was getting weaker.
“Mama, she’s not going to the hospital. Do you want to defile my house? She will survive this phase. The placenta is out, right? Watch how miraculously she will heal…”
The next thing that made my eyes widen was the sound of a slap. My mother slapped my stubborn husband across the face, then another slap followed.
“How dare you! It’s only because hitting a woman is wrong—I would have given you the same slap back!” my husband fired. That was when I realized I didn’t know the man I married.
“Mum…” I called weakly, feeling life leave my body. I was getting weaker and slowly slipping into the tub.
“Babe,” my husband leaned closer and tried to touch my hand, but I quickly pulled it away with my last strength. “Let’s pray, babe. You will survive this,” he said, and my mother stepped out of the bathroom.
“Pray, you say? God is not a magician,” I replied weakly.
But he still knelt beside me, shut his eyes, and began to pray anyway. I couldn’t believe it.
My breathing started getting irregular and shorter. I had not even seen my baby. No, I will not die—I kept whispering it to myself. I have to live to carry my baby and leave this man forever. I have to live to tell this story.
As I tried to keep my eyes open with the determination to leave, my mother returned with a pestle and before I could react, she brought it down hard on his head.
My mother hit my husband on the head with a pestle after he refused to take me to the hospital for proper postnatal treatment.
First, he left the placenta inside me, and when it was finally out, I started to ble_ed.
Yet he still refused to take me to the hospital because his church doctrine was against it.
He was gambling with my life over church doctrine. I was getting weaker, yet he chose to hold my hands and pray for divine intervention instead.
What blind faith!!
Luckily, my mum was around and hit him on the head with a pestle so he wouldn’t stop us from leaving. When he passed out, I weakly asked her to check if he was still alive.
“Check if there is a pulse, Mum,” I said in fear, yet close to shutting my eyes.
“Keep your eyes open! Stay with me!” my mum shouted, making sure I was looking at her before assuring me she was going out to get help to take me to the hospital.
She checked my husband’s pulse and whispered, “He will be alright. I didn’t hit him hard.”
Then she left the bathroom, and I was alone in the tub, in my own pool of bl0_0d, waiting for my mother while staring at my unconscious husband and wondering if this was the man I married.
I knew of men who would defy every rule just to save the lives of their loved ones, but my husband was so bent on church doctrine that he didn’t care about my life.
Looking at him, fear seized me, and I wondered if he was still breathing.
My mother was taking too long, and I could see the sun about to set. I didn’t want to stay any longer in the tub; I was scared of the unknown… Scared of losing my life. My heart was beating fast, and a sharp pain hit my abdomen as more blo0_od flowed.
Then my husband stirred. I thought I hadn’t seen clearly, but I noticed his fingers move gently. Then his mouth twitched.
Another wave of fear seized me, and I prayed he wouldn’t wake up. If he wakes up now, he would stop my mother from taking me to the hospital.
I began to search for anything to throw at his head to stop him from waking up, but there was nothing within reach.
Just then, my mother hurried in with two young men and pleaded with them to help me out of the house.
They looked at my husband and asked if he was okay.
“He doesn’t matter for now. My daughter needs urgent treatment!” my mother cried.
The men quickly carried me up. Bless them. Despite the blo0_od and my wet clothes, they didn’t show any sign of disgust but held me firmly instead.
They safely took me out of the bathroom and headed for the sitting room so we could finally leave the house.
My mother was about to open the door for us when a weak voice cut through the air; “Stop right there!”
It was my husband. He had woken up.
“So soon?” my mother whispered.
My heart jumped. My vision blurred, and the dizziness that followed was overwhelming.
Then I heard my baby’s cry coming from the room.
“I warned you about this sin! You will not take my wife to the hospital!” my husband warned as he staggered toward us.
“Go! Go! Leave!” my mother urged the men, who hesitated, unsure whether to go or stay.
I had no say.
“Stop right there! Do not take my wife to the hospital! It is against our church doctrine!” my husband said as he staggered slowly toward us, holding his head.
My mother urged the men carrying me to leave the room while she tried to stall him. “Go, take her to the car. I will try to stop him!” she said, and the men finally turned to the door and opened it.
From the corner of my eye, I saw my husband running toward us, and my heart did a heavy backflip. My mother quickly pushed him back while the men carefully took me out of the house, and I was unable to see what happened next.
Scared for my mother, I pleaded with the men to go back and save her. “Leave me out here and save my mother first. He will hurt her. Please, save my mother.”
One of the men got frustrated and shouted, “Who exactly do we help here? Your mother wants us to help you, and now you want us to go back and save your mother! Why are you confusing us?”
“Please,” I began weakly, struggling to breathe and getting weaker as the men placed me into the back of the car. “Stop him from hurting my mother.”
While I was begging them to save my mother, one of them was busy starting the car.
I looked down at my legs and saw fresh bl00_od seeping down my inner thighs, and in that moment, I screamed in pain. I felt a heaviness and sharp pain in my abdomen.
My fingers trembled, my lips quivered, and my eyelids began to drop again. I bit into my lip to fight the pain and remind myself that I needed to live.
While I was still trying to keep myself awake, I saw my mother striding toward the car, holding my baby.
“Let’s go,” my mother said as she got into the car beside me. I was surprised.
“Mum… did you convince him to let us go?” I asked weakly.
She looked at my legs and shouted at the driver, “Move this car now!” The engine roared to life as one of the men turned the ignition.
My mother patted my shoulder gently and said, “Don’t think about anything else. Keep your eyes open and survive this first.”
I finally got to look at my baby, and pride swelled in my chest. He was fair, soft, and neat. My husband had cleaned him up well.
I smiled at him as my mother said, “He looks just like you. You see why you need to pass through this phase? Open your eyes and keep looking at your child.”
Yet again, my mind went back to my husband. With the way he insisted on not taking me to the hospital, I never expected he would give in that easily.
I kept wondering why he didn’t follow my mother out of the house or try to stop her from taking the baby. Did my mother do anything to him? Did she hurt him? Or had he finally accepted to let me go to the hospital?
“Mum, how did you convince him to—”
“I told you to focus on your healing. Your husband will come around soon,” my mother said.
I was taken into the emergency ward quickly on a stretcher, and that was the exact moment my eyes finally chose to shut.
When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and beside me stood a policeman with a notebook and pen. He was asking my mother questions. My head was splitting, and there was a sharp pain in my left hand. I managed to look at it and saw that I was receiving blood through an IV line. That was when my mother noticed me stir.
“You’re awake!” she exhaled in relief and came closer to hold my hand. She assured me everything was fine and that I didn’t need to worry about the police.
“But why are they questioning you?” I muttered weakly.
“We just found out that your husband is dead…”
Those words rang in my head for more than a minute as I tried to process what she meant. I remembered how he tried to stop us from going to the hospital. He had been so strong then. He didn’t look like someone about to die. So how did he end up dead?
“He died from a stab wound and was left in the house to bleed to death…”
That was when I remembered how my mother had asked us to leave while she stayed behind to stop him. Did she kill him? I turned to my mother, but she smiled instead and patted my hand gently.
“Officer, we don’t know how he ended up dead. But we were trying to escape to save my daughter, who was about to bleed to death,” my mother said, looking at me, as if warning me not to say anything.
The officer then asked me, “When was the last time you saw your husband?”
But I couldn’t talk. I was trying to process everything at once. How could it be possible that my husband was dead?
“Did you say my husband is dead?” I asked the officer again.
“Yes. We found him dead.”
A cold chill ran down my spine.
I managed to answer the questions he asked before he finally left. I quickly turned to my mother and muttered, “How? How did he die?”
“It’s a long story,” she said. “I want you to recover first before I tell you what happened.”
“No!” I shouted. Did she realize that my son was now fatherless? Did she realize that I was now a widow? “You must tell me what happened, here and now!”
“Lower your voice,” she said, sighing heavily. Then she began to explain. She said my husband had pushed her the moment she entered the sitting room to stop him.
“I nearly fell to the floor,” she continued. Before she could steady herself, my husband had already gone to get a weapon—the same knife he was later stabbed with.
“Leave my way right now, or I’ll be forced to kill you!” he had threatened her with the knife.
My mother said she resisted him. “I would rather die than live to see a man let my daughter die because of his church doctrine.”
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They struggled over the knife, and it grazed her arm. She showed me her right arm, where the sharp blade had cut her, and said that in the struggle, she had accidentally stabbed him.
My mouth fell open in disbelief.
