I didn’t know my mom; she lost her life giving me life.
A true story, the names of the characters and the images have been deliberately changed.
My name is Isaora.
I am now 17 years old. I was born on September 25, 2001, a dark day for me; for also corresponding to the day when my mother died on the delivery table.
Her name was Marie-Angèle.
The only memories I have of her are a few photos and the stories I was told.
A charming woman, an Amazon, a caring mother who has always protected her children, a virtuous woman.
I was his third act, I have two older brothers. She wanted a girl. And God gave it to him. It was me.
Nine months, she carried me into her womb with sacrifices, pain and deprivation. My pregnancy was not easy at all, I was told; threats of preterm birth, anaemia, malaria, etc.
However, she wore it.She agreed to drink the cup to the dregs…
Tuesday, September 25, 2001: it was on this day that my father accompanied his wife, my mother, to a clinic in the square at about 10 p.m.
This is where my pregnancy has been followed since conception.
The labour of delivery lasted a few hours. And everything was going well. The on-call team took good care of us.
At 3:30 a.m., I uttered my first cry with a loud and loud cry.A huge joy illuminated my mother with a sense of duty accomplished. It was a simple low-down delivery.
And suddenly, like a lightning bolt in a serene sky, Mum began to bleed.
She was hemorrhaging deliverance with cataclysmic bleeding. The caregivers were moving in all directions.
My mom was going to die…
Immediately it was transferred and taken to the O.R.
The planned pockets of blood were no longer enough. It took blood, yes blood to save my mom. Mom was in group O negative.The bleeding was eventually brought under control in the O.R., but Mum had already lost enough blood.
My dad moved heaven and earth in search of that vital liquid on which my mother’s life now depended.
There was no O-blood available anywhere in Cotonou and surrounding areas.Dad was on his way to Lomé for the clinic, where he finally managed to get 2 pockets of blood when my mom gave back his last breath and passed from life to death…
Every time I tell this story, great is my emotion and intense my grief.So I stop there by sparing you the other details of our moments of affliction, because my eyes no longer hold …
Just remember that since I was born I have a void in me, a void in the shape of a mother that no one will be able to fill.
My mom took the place of me, she left her life for me.
However, I have made a commitment and it is firm.
From my 18th year, I will always donate my blood to save other lives that like me and my mom are of a rare group, O negative. And to do this, I make the daily effort to maintain my pure blood by paying close attention to my health.
Remember this dear friends: “To give blood is to offer life”.
I love you mommy;
I love you very much and I owe you my life…
Your only daughter, Isaora.