I AM NOT YVONNE NELSON

g urge to have a pregnancy test, having missed my period. So, I bought the test kit and went to the bathroom. And that was when it dawned on me that my life was about to change in

Jamie’s ex-wife and knew our relationship had no future. Knowing that was one thing, and accepting the reality was another. So, even though I knew that our beautiful and almost perfect relationship had hit a hard and impenetrable rock, it was still difficult to ignore any social media post he made with another woman. With my hormones all over the place and the least issue triggering depression, I felt like he had put my life and my world on hold and did not even care about it. He could have gone out with those ladies, but if he wasn’t doing that to spite me, he would have kept the outings from social media, I thought. Did he know what I was going through? Did he care about posting a black lady he had taken to the restaurant he once told me was his favourite? His choice of women was black and if he took a black lady to his choicest restaurant and posted about it, I didn’t need any confirmation from him that they were dating. Did he care about the impact of that on me? I answered all these questions negatively, and those answers pushed a dagger into my heart. One of the worst moments during my pregnancy came through a phone call from Nigeria. I had an endorsement deal with Glo, and the call came from there. I remember a woman called me to shoot an ad and I came clean with her that I was pregnant. I explained that I would deliver in three or four months and we could continue with everything. Her response was: “The dynamics will change.” I did not have the opportunity to deliver and continue with the deal. Shortly after that, my contract with Glo was not renewed, and I knew it was down to the pregnancy. That broke me. But I had to fight on and live for the precious being inside me. Though it was my first pregnancy, I did not have a lot of physical complications. It was more of the emotional distress. The absence of companionship made the burden heavier. I attended the antenatal clinic alone and had to take extraordinary measures to ensure that news of my pregnancy did not leak. At the hospital, my folder did not have my name. I went by the name Regina Van Helvet. I remember there were times I had to be prompted by a nurse that I was the one being called because I forgot the pseudonym I had chosen for myself. When my baby was finally born, her cot did not have my name. It was Regina Van Helvet. I watched it and smiled, momentarily forgetting the drama that heralded the arrival of that little angel. My water broke on October 29, 2017. It was at about 5 a.m. in the 38th week of my pregnancy. It was a Sunday morning when I felt the gush of water down my thighs. I immediately knew I had to get to the hospital. I had learnt from my antenatal sessions and my own research (reading and watching YouTube videos) about what to expect. I had downloaded apps that showed the development of the baby at the various stages of the pregnancy and what to expect. I was always on top of issues. Nothing took me by surprise, so when the water broke, I knew the moment had arrived, and I needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Jamie had been back a few days earlier and was with me, but I couldn’t trust him to drive me. Ghana and Britain drive on different sides of the road and whoever switches without enough practice is likely to cause havoc. The last time Jamie had tried driving in Ghana, he almost killed himself. In a state that required utmost care in order to get to the hospital alive, therefore, I could not trust him to transport me. The first person who came to mind was Sammy Forson, a broadcast journalist who lived in the area. When I called him, however, he did not answer. I then called Nii, another friend who lived around. He, too, did not answer his phone. In that mode of controlled panic, I was running out of options until I remembered a neighbour, Johnson Kotey, whom I had given my dog to. I had a dog, but the demands of pregnancy, allergies and other related issues did not permit me to give the dog the needed care so I gave her out. Mr. Kotey was getting ready for church when my call came. He responded quickly and was at my gate the next moment. With him in the driving seat and Jamie and I behind, we headed for the Lister Hospital and Fertility Centre at Airport Hills. It was a 9-kilometre journey that lasted longer than the 20 minutes it normally would require to cover that distance. At the time, the road from my house to School Junction and to Adjiringanor was not tarred. This meant that the driver had to exercise utmost caution in order not to worsen my delicate situation. Speed was of the essence, but arriving safely was more important. When we got to the Underbridge at East Legon, however, things changed. The baby’s head was visible through my vulva, when we were still about two kilometres away from the hospital. The road from Underbridge to the hospital was tarred and would not take us long to get there, but it was almost too late. My baby’s head was already showing, and the pain was something I had never felt before, not even during my neardeath abortion experience. I had read that the stage