ONYEDIKACHUKWU

Nobody knew that night would almost become the end of two lives… and the beginning of mine. It started with chaos. People were running in and out of the house. Nobody was explaining anything. Nobody even had time to explain. My siblings, Nkem, who was seven, and Abuchi, who was only five, had just returned from church. They stood at the entrance, confused by the commotion around them. Nkem grabbed a neighbour who was rushing past. “Aunty, wait! What is happening?” The woman stopped briefly. Her face was tense. “It’s your mother. She’s in labour.” Nkem's eyes widened. “Labour?” She looked toward the room where the noise was coming from. “But… she’s only eight months pregnant.” The woman didn't answer. She hurried away. Nkem stood there, frozen. Abuchi held onto her hand. “Nkem…” She looked down. “Is Mummy going to be okay?” Nkem swallowed hard. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to make her little brother feel safe. But she was scared too. “I… I don't know.” Before anyone could say anything else, another sound came from outside. Someone was struggling to catch his breath. It was their father. He came rushing up the stairs. “Where is your mother?” Silence. He looked around frantically. “Where is she?!” Nobody answered quickly enough. His voice rose. “Has the driver come?!” One of the neighbours shook her head. “Not yet.” Their father immediately turned. “Then call him! Tell him to come now!” He rushed inside. And then he saw her. His wife was lying there. She had collapsed. Earlier that day, she had received devastating news from her sister. Her brother had died in an accident while travelling for a business trip. The shock was too much. Her body went into early labour. And suddenly, everything became a race against time. The driver finally arrived. My father, the driver, and our house apprentice, Ofoma, carried my mother into the vehicle. “Careful! Careful!” my father shouted. He climbed in beside her. “Let's go!” The driver stepped on the accelerator. They rushed to the hospital. But when they arrived, another problem was waiting for them. There were no doctors. They were on strike. My mother needed help. Immediately. My father stared at the hospital staff in disbelief. “What do you mean there are no doctors?” A staff member shook his head. “They're on strike, sir. There's nothing we can do here.” My father's face changed. “Nothing?” He looked toward the vehicle. His wife was still inside. “My wife is in labour. She's unconscious. How can you tell me there's nothing you can do?” The staff member looked helpless. “You need to take her somewhere else. Quickly.” My father didn't argue again. He turned toward the driver. “Take us to another hospital.” The driver nodded. “Yes, sir.” So they rushed her to another hospital— Our Lady of Fatima, Waterside, opposite Holy Trinity in Onitsha. That was where the real battle began. My mother was placed on oxygen. Doctors rushed around her. Everything was happening so quickly. Then my father was called aside. A doctor placed a document in front of him. “You need to sign this.” My father stared at the paper. “What is it?” The doctor hesitated. “It's a consent form for the operation.” My father looked toward the theatre. “Is my wife going to be okay?” The doctor paused. Then came the words no husband or father ever wants to hear. “We can't guarantee that.” My father's expression changed. The doctor continued. “The baby is only eight months. There's a possibility the baby may not survive.” He swallowed. “And your wife's condition is also serious.” My father stared at him. “What are you saying?” The doctor took a breath. “There's a chance we could lose the baby.” Another pause. “There's also a chance we could lose your wife.” My father's hands began to tremble. The doctor looked directly at him. “There's even a possibility…” He hesitated. “…that we could lose both.” My father stared at the doctor. For a moment, he couldn't speak. Then his voice came out barely above a whisper. “Doctor… is there any other way?” The doctor shook his head. “We don't have much time.” My father looked toward the theatre doors. His wife was behind them. His unborn child was behind them. And there was nothing he could do. Then the driver, an older man who had been with him through everything, stepped forward. He placed a hand on my father's shoulder. “My friend…” My father looked at him. The driver spoke firmly. “Man up. We don't have time to waste.” He pointed toward the document. “Sign it before it's too late.” My father looked down at the paper. His hands were shaking. He picked up the pen. And signed. In tears. The doctors rushed my mother into the theatre. She underwent a Caesarean section. But during the operation, things became even more complicated. According to what my parents later told me, my mother's blood pressure became dangerously high. The doctors fought to control it. They kept working. And eventually… I was born. But there was no celebration. No smiles. No congratulations. Because almost immediately, my mother lost consciousness. The doctors rushed her away and placed her on oxygen. And then they turned their attention to me. My parents were later told that I didn't look like a healthy newborn. Something was wrong. I wasn't responding normally. The doctors said I needed urgent blood treatment. My father was already watching his wife lying unconscious. Now he had to fight for his newborn child too. A doctor approached him. “We need blood.” My father immediately answered. “Take mine.” The doctor looked at him. “Are you sure?” “Yes.” He didn't hesitate. “Whatever you need. Just save my child.” But before anything could be done… I stopped breathing. Everything went silent. The doctor froze. Then suddenly— “Quick! Move the baby!” I was rushed into the same room as my mother. They placed me inside an incubator. My father stood there helplessly. “What's happening?” Nobody answered immediately. “Doctor!” Still nothing. My father's voice cracked. “Please… somebody tell me what's happening to my child.” But there was no answer that could comfort him. My father broke down. The man who had been trying to stay strong through everything… finally cried. The driver was speechless. Ofoma didn't know what to say. Eventually, the hospital told them to go home. My father refused. He shook his head. “I'm not leaving my wife and my child here.” The doctor tried to reason with him. “Sir, your wife needs rest. You need to go home and come back tomorrow.” My father looked toward the room. “How am I supposed to sleep?” His voice trembled. “My wife is unconscious and my child is fighting for his life. How do you expect me to go home?” But the hospital insisted. So he left. But he didn't really leave. He kept coming back. Again. And again. Checking on his wife. Checking on the baby everyone thought was already gone. Two weeks passed. Finally, my mother regained consciousness. Her eyes slowly opened. She looked around. Then she saw my father beside her. Her voice was weak. “Where… is my baby?” My father held her hand. “He's here.” She looked at him. “How is he?” My father didn't answer immediately. That silence told her everything. Her eyes filled with tears. “What's wrong with him?” My father looked away. “He's still fighting.” She closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek. She began recovering. But I hadn't changed. I hadn't moved. I wasn't improving. And when my mother saw the condition I was in… her heart broke. Her blood pressure started rising again. The nurse immediately noticed. “Madam, please calm down.” My mother shook her head. “How can I calm down?” She pointed toward me. “That's my child.” The nurse tried to reassure her. “You need to rest. Your blood pressure is going up.” My mother began crying. “I almost died bringing him into this world…” Her voice broke. “Please… don't let me lose him now.” Thankfully, the nurse caring for her was able to control her blood pressure. Then, five days later… The doctor called my parents. And this time, there was no comforting them. No false hope. The doctor sat down with them. My father immediately knew something was wrong. “Doctor… what happened?” The doctor looked at both of them. He took a slow breath. “I'm sorry.” My mother's heart sank. “What happened to my baby?” The doctor looked down. Then he said the words that destroyed whatever hope they had left. “There is no hope left.” Silence. My father stared at him. “What do you mean?” The doctor continued. “You should come and take the baby home.” My mother shook her head. “No.” The doctor looked at her. “Madam…” She interrupted him. “No. You're wrong.” Her voice trembled. “My baby is still alive.” The doctor lowered his eyes. “You need to prepare yourselves.” My mother began crying. “Prepare for what?” Nobody answered. She already knew. “No…” She covered her face. “No, God…” The doctor gently said: “You should prepare for his burial.” My mother couldn't believe it. She broke down. She cried. She screamed. “After everything I went through…” Her voice cracked. “This baby didn't survive?” Then she asked the question nobody could answer. “God… why me?” Two days passed. My family prepared for the worst. The child they had prayed for… The child my mother had nearly died giving birth to… was about to be taken away for burial. Everything was ready. Everyone had accepted that I was gone. Everyone… except me. Because just when they thought the story was over… Something happened. Something nobody expected. Something that would change my family's life forever. I coughed. Everyone froze. Nobody moved. Then… I started crying. The people around me couldn't believe what they were hearing. Someone immediately called the doctor. “Doctor! Come quickly!” The doctor rushed in. “What happened?” The nurse pointed toward the incubator. “The baby…” Her voice shook. “He's crying.” The doctor stared at me. Then he rushed toward the incubator. The news reached my parents. My father couldn't believe it. “What did you say?” The message was repeated. “Your baby is alive.” My father stood completely still. My mother began crying. But this time… they weren't tears of grief. They were tears of disbelief. The baby they had already given up on… WAS ALIVE. The hospital erupted. People started singing. Worship songs filled the place. There were tears. There were praises. There was disbelief. And there was my mother… holding onto a miracle she had already mourned. Then she gave me a name. A name born from everything she had survived. A name that would follow me for the rest of my life. ONYEDIKACHUKWU WHO IS LIKE GOD?