It’s funny how people misunderstand and mismatch the strength and power of things and then make assumptions. Same is the story of vagina and balls. Yes, you read right. I still fail to understand why we associate vagina with the weakness and balls with the strength, whereas the situation is totally opposite. One flick on the balls can put a man on his knees and the vagina can literally push out human beings. I say all this is because this story is a tribute to a lady. A strong and beautiful lady that showed what hope and believe can achieve.
It was the death of night when her water broke. And she was in the moment again. She had been in this moment before also, but every time it resulted in a very sad and stiff stillborn. Miscarriages were weakening not only her but her belief too. And on the other hand, it was breaking his husband from inside, slowly.
So, this night was very important for both of them. She was taken and laid down. Eight doctors in the room, including his brother and her brother-in-law. Doctors had expected a normal delivery. But nothing can change the will of Allah. The kid had changed his position. Unexpected and surprising as it was, but this was it. She would do anything to keep this one alive. Even if it meant losing her life. It wasn’t long for all the people in the room to make up their mind to go for cesarean delivery. Immediately, they arranged the anesthesia. But she wouldn’t agree. She wouldn’t take a slight risk of sending this one back. She refused point-blank. They didn’t have time to waste. So, they obeyed. It took time to make it happen. Only to observe the kid intake the womb fluid. It didn’t cry on the only time when the mother wants his child to cry.
And she was there to see it all. She had planned and prayed a lot to not to lose this time. Making everything right and giving all that she had, just to see the unfairness of life. Just to be broken one final time? “NO”, all she could mourn. The doctors heard her and got back to their job. They did everything they could, to make a kid cry. They pressed his chest, hit the back again and again.
Finally, Allah saw her pain and the struggle and gave the kid a voice when the doctor sucked out the liquids from the kid’s mouth. He cried and so did she. As the Islam guides, the Adsan was prayed in his ears and the mother accepted her victory over death. All she remembers hearing was the doctors saying how tired she and the kid were so, let them rest. She knew she couldn’t until she had him in her arms. Outside the Operation Theatre, the father had prayed every prayer that he ever knew and was thanking Allah. When she came back to senses all she wanted was him and her husband next to her. She got what she wanted. She asked her husband what to name him. He said anything she wished because she was the one who was awarded for her sacrifices. This is what she exactly wanted to hear. And so, she said,
“If I have been awarded, so let us name him the reward.”
Her husband kissed her on the forehead.
My mom still calls me a born fighter. I fail to understand that why. She says, “I was the one who fought against all odds including death to make her smile.”
But what I strongly believe is that she was the one who fought the war and took all the pain to make me alive.
I love you, Mumma.