Mother of Four

Three years ago, I married again, some ten years after the end of my first marriage. My new husband (who was a good childhood friend of mine) was someone I had met after many years. Soon after we met again, we got our nikah done. He had been married twice before and had three children. I did not have any children at the time. I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes at the age of 21; early onset diabetes ran in my family, alongside several other health conditions. Doctors had notified me at an early stage that the possibility of being a mother was therefore low. This had been extremely upsetting and altered my goals in life. So I planned to live to whatever I was able to do to the fullest – to enjoy travelling, meet new people and socialise with family.

Early in to my marriage, I discovered I was pregnant. This came as a shock to me given my conditions. I was excited but did not have high expectations. Soon after the 4th week of pregnancy, I miscarried. The miscarriage took place at home. My husband and I kept it to ourselves. We never spoke about it again.

Soon afterwards, I became pregnant again. This time, I was a lot more anxious. Fifth week in and another miscarriage. Similar situation. By now, I had prepared myself mentally, believing that I may never be able to carry a child into the later stages of pregnancy.

One year went by. My husband and I decided to take a break; to go to live abroad in Pakistan. We ended up residing in Pakistan for a year. There were some struggles, as I was finding it difficult to adapt to the climate. I had not visited since I was 9 years old. But we rented a property with another family and soon got used to the lifestyle. To my surprise, I had become pregnant again. This time, I felt hopeful. I felt this would be the one. It was a huge struggle finding medicines including Insulin to keep the diabetes well controlled, and thereby protect the pregnancy while I was living abroad. But things seemed to be working. I was now going in to my seventh month of pregnancy and my son was active and healthy according to scans. I was feeling joyful and excited. My very first would be born. The heat in Pakistan hit peak at 48 degrees and the constant electricity cut out made the nights restless. I felt exhausted. At 7 months and 4 days into the pregnancy, on the 10th of Muharram, my son kicked out his feet – I had gone into premature labour. I felt nothing, not a single thing, until I realised the trauma I was about to face that morning. I was rushed to hospital. The delivery was four bours long and I lost 2.9 litres of blood in the process. Whilst I lay there, I recall a name come to me, it was then and there I decided he was Yusuf Mustafa. Sadly, he was born still. Doctors could not save him as he had lost oxygen upon releasing his feet. Before I was discharged from hospital he was already buried and I never got to see him.

At this point, I had decided I wanted to return to the UK. My heart and mind were blocking out everything that had happened. We never spoke of Yusuf either, as if it never happened. Inside, I felt the urge to shout out and cry in pain but I knew it would bring strain in my marriage so I kept my feelings bolted.

When I returned to UK. I was diagnosed with severe iron deficiency anaemia due to the blood loss during Yusuf’s delivery. My husband and I decided we would live North, away from the life we used to live down South. Five months after my return, I became pregnant for the fourth time. I was in full confidence now, telling myself I am in UK. What could.possibly go wrong this time? I have full care here. What I should have been seeking, I did not see until five months into the pregnancy. My daughter was developing well. I had chosen a name for her, Ayat. We bought all her baby garments, cot and things. I was going for my regular check ups, taking all the vitamins, everything was looking good.

At 5 months and 6 days into the pregnancy, I woke up at 5am, heavily bleeding. I screamed out to my husband. The ambulance arrived. I was hysterical as I was not prepared for another loss. Taken in to emergency labour, Ayat was surprisingly born alive. The midwife put her in my arms and she kicked her tiny hands and feet. Tears of joy came streaming down from my eyes. Finally, I had a baby in my arms.

Three hours later, Ayat stopped breathing. I felt my heart sink as I pleaded with doctors to save her life. She was too small for resuscitation machines. I was told she could not be saved. The pain in my heart stabbed at me at this point. How could it be? Why is this happening?

It was then, a moment came to me. A moment of Sabr. A recitation of Durood-e-Ibrahim came to my mind and the words, spontaneously flowed from my mouth. I felt a sudden peace, a veil over me which brought me calm. I looked at the lifeless body of my daughter, and praised Allah SWT.

It was what I was missing. The Taqwa, the trust in Allah. It was then it came to me that these children of mine were spared lives of difficulty, lives full of challenges and hardship. They were taken pure. Then how can I not be grateful to my Lord? Who am I to question?

So my story ends there and the moral of it is, to have true faith and belief in Allah. To trust in him, for He is the one who will decide what is beneficial for us, and what is to be and not. After all of the years of questioning myself and blaming myself for things going wrong in my pregnancies, Ayat’s birth finally led me to what I was searching for. Allah SWT bestowed His mercy upon me. The light at the end of the tunnel was there awaiting for me to reach out to him. I will always see myself as a mother, but now I have that hope in my heart that my Lord will reunite me with them when the day comes. Sometimes we look beyond our Imaan and we forget to stop and think what it may all mean. The signs are from the Almighty and to Him we shall return. I hope my story can help those Mothers who feel they are to blame or have done something wrong, as I did for many years. You have not; just look a little deeper. Allah is bringing you closer to Him with every loss and hardship.