Becoming

The walk to theatres seemed long that day. Left. Right. Left again. Labyrinthine corridors. Sterile floors. Accompanied by a nurse who seemed keen to converse. She made polite remarks and I offered polite smiles. A performance hard to maintain. Feigned bravery supported by a broken back and trembling knees. Somehow I continued to move. I don’t remember the words spoken or exchanged. All I could hear was my heart beating, pounding, inside my chest. Thud. Thud. Thud. Pounding so hard my ears ached. Is this normal? Maybe I’ve developed an arrhythmia. Is it safe to proceed? Maybe once they get me on the table they’ll realise it’s no good and it’ll all get cancelled. One cold hand holds limply onto G while the other cradles a bump hidden beneath the hospital gown. My bump. A bump I had so many feelings about. A bump I had adored but also maybe ignored. A bump I so desperately wished I’d had the mental space to hang out with more. A bump I knew I would miss long before it was gone. A bump that had become your home.

Eventually I walked into theatre. Greeted by an audience, my eyes cast down, maybe I mumbled hello. ‘Hop onto the table there Priya and we’ll get started’ said a theatre nurse with a lyrical accent and a face I cannot recall. There was no hopping onto the table as requested and instead I clambered slowly using a step and taking the greatest care. There was precious cargo on board and I was consumed with its safe arrival. Nobody here really knew that in the months preceding, I was terrified of this very moment. ‘We’re just going to attach these leads so we can see what baby is up to’, and very quickly a tangled mess of wires weaved their way around my swollen abdomen. Then I heard it. I heard you. The swishy, whirling sound of the tiny heartbeat within. I’d heard it many times by now, even recorded it on my phone and G had taken to auscultating it with his steth. But in that moment it felt so visceral. So raw. So… well, finite. It was the last time I’d hear you from the inside.

Minutes later I sat leaning forwards, trying to hold my naked body still. I felt tired, but no where near as exhausted as I would soon go on to feel. As I thought about the little life within, a needle found its way deep into my spine. It struck me the transactional nature of it all. Bread and butter for them, monumental, life altering metamorphosis for me. Just a girl… becoming. Nobody tells you this. Or if they do, it’s minimised, brushed aside, treated as routine. Women have been doing this for millennia, don’t you know? I tried to breathe slowly, futile really; and a knot, so tight, lodged itself firmly in my throat. This was it, here we are, there is no going back.

The next moments are blurred. Fragmented pieces, forever etched into my mind. A blue drape. A motionless body from the chest down. Beeping monitors. Humming air filters.  A perishing coldness that takes over my face and my arms. A warm blanket awkwardly placed but gratefully received. Silent tears, unnoticed by others, that roll down my face undeterred. Tears that bid farewell to the girl I am, the girl I was. And a playlist, carefully curated for just this moment, proves soundless to me. Tugging and pulling. Oh the tugging and pulling. Would it ever end? Wondering, praying, hoping. 

And then I hear it. 

Three little cries and a gasp from my side. 

He’s here. 

---

My sweet baby, Arlo, was born at 11.30am on the 2nd February 2024 weighing 2.6 kg. He is perfect and teaches me so much each and every day. As I look at him now, 4 months postpartum, my heart swells with love and pride. My hope in documenting these memories is that one day he might get to know the girl I was before I became his mama. But also, so that any other girl that ever feels the way I did, never feels alone.

Thank you for reading.