Page 45 of Avenging Devil: Part 1

Do babies feel pain in the womb?Some people say yes, some no.What if he does and he’s suffering now? Would it be fair to allow him to suffer for three more months, and all for nothing? What if for now he can’t feel anything, but birthing him would cause immense suffering? Or would it have no effect on him at all?

As for myself, I don’t know what would be best for me. Ending my pregnancy now would allow me to start healing, if that’s even possible, which I doubt. But if I continue, am I just delaying the inevitable? Simply putting off the pain for another day?

He’s alive now, I can feel fluttering. Is he moving like a normal baby?How would I know?For him, continuing will only result in a death sentence. Am I selfish wanting to hold him in my arms if only for a minute?

I love him with every fibre of my being. I just don’t know what to do for the best. If I continue this pregnancy, my thinking about what’s in store for him will gradually drive me crazy. But if I end it, how will I cope?

Sometimes in the night when I fall into an exhausted sleep, I dream of a sweet little boy, his arms reaching out for me callingMommy, Mommy, but in my dream he’s drifting away. I run with my feet stuck in quicksand. I pull one foot free, only to have the other sink in deep. All the while he’s getting further and further from me. I can’t get to him, and I scream and jerk awake.

I can’t go on like this,day after day, torturing myself, not knowing for certain whether I’m torturing him, the most important being in my life.

That final day, I wake shaking and crying in total anguish, knowing there’s only one decision I can make. I can’t take the risk my baby’s already in pain, making him endure that for the next three months just to give me the chance of holding him. I can’t think only of myself; I’ve got to let him go.

Before my resolution fades, I ring early, insisting on speaking to the doctor who’d given me the prognosis, and hear her assure me once again,“No, Ms Jones. From the sonogram and the other tests we’ve done, there is no hope. A large part of his skull is missing. He won’t survive.”

Not allowing myself second thoughts, I arrange the appointment.

The time between that phone call and leaving for the hospital passes with me in a kind of trance. I spend it talking to my baby, explaining how much I love him, how I’d have given him the best life I could. How sorry I am for whatever I did to lead us to this place, and that there’ll always be a part of me that’s died along with him. The truth is, without him, I don’t know how I’ll survive, nor whether I want to.

How I drive safely to the hospital I’ll never know. But I do. I was given two options—a local or general anaesthetic. I took the latter, knowing I’d lose the last vestiges of my sanity were I to be awake.

Internally screamingI can’t do this,I let them put me to sleep.

When I wake, feeling sick and disorientated, I already feel empty. I’m barely aware of what anyone is saying to me, except for the warnings that I will continue to bleed. Symptoms of what to look out for that may be a problem go right over my head. At that moment, I truly don’t care what happens to me.

I feel like a murderer.

After a period of time monitoring me, they say I’m okay to leave. When they check whether I’ve got someone with me, I lie and say I have a friend waiting outside.

I stumble across the car park, unsure whether what I’m feeling is more mental than physical, but I’m dizzy, my head aches, my stomach feels sore, and as for my heart, it’s smashed into pieces. I head for my car thinking I’ll sit for a bit before starting to drive. If I was sensible, I’d call for a cab. Maybe I will, but I need some time to pull myself together first. I might not care about my life, but I won’t be a danger to others.

Everything inside me is screaming that I’ve made a mistake. What do doctors know, they could have been wrong? Why did I come here today? Why hadn’t I carried on and pretended everything was normal?

Now there’s nothing left.

No baby.

No hope.

I might as well be dead.

I shouldn’t have done it.

Chapter Fifteen

Niran

Staring at a carburettor as if it could talk and tell me what was wrong, I’m distracted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. “What can I do for you, Token?”

“Got some info for you. I’ve been keeping tabs on your woman. Thought you’d like to know Saffie’s booked herself into the hospital. She went in first thing this morning. From the notes I managed to get into, it looks like she’s going through with the termination.”

Oh, Saffie.I pull the phone away for a moment and swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump that comes into my throat. While I support her choice, I can’t imagine how hard this will be for her. I know she’ll be devastated.

“You said she went in. Is she still there?” I appreciate that Token had given me a moment.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’ve only just found out.”

“Gotcha. Thanks, Brother.” I end the call.

---