Daughter of Sheena (49)

2015-9-20

Daughter of Sheena-49
Memories of Qadamkheyr Mohammadi Kanaan
Wife of Sardar Shaheed Haj Sattar Ebrahimi Hajir
Memory writer: Behnaz Zarrabizadeh
Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company, 2011 (Persian Version)
Translated by Zahra Hosseinian

It was in June 1985. I felt ill a few weeks; going giddy and feeling sleepy. One day I decided to see a doctor. I asked our neighbor, Ms. Darabi, to take care of my kids a few hours, and I went to the clinic. After examination, doctor said: “It’s better to do these tests first.”

I did the test the same day and a few days later I brought its report to the clinic. “You're pregnant!” doctor said, as soon as she saw it.

Suddenly I felt everything was spinning around in my head. I grabbed the corner of her desk not to fall. My hands and feet became numb and I muttered: “Oh my God!”

Doctor took my hand and helped me to sit on the chair, and kindly said: “Is there anything wrong, Madam?! How many children do you have?”

With discomfort, I said: “My fourth baby is still six months.”

She took my hand and said: “You shouldn’t have become pregnant so soon; but now you are. Instead of feeling discomfort, it’s better to think of yourself and your baby. From now, visit me monthly to be under special care.”

I said: “Doctor! Is this test really true? Maybe I'm not pregnant.”

The doctor laughed and said: “Fortunately or unfortunately, I must say that the test of this laboratory is quite accurate.”

I did not know what to do, where to go, and to whom I could say my suffering. How I could spend the pregnancy period with four little kids. Oh God! How could I give birth to another child? Oh, again I should tolerate that much difficulty. No, I no longer can tolerate washing cloths and working and raising a child.

Doctor prescribed me some medicine and consoled me a lot. She spoke to me, but my mind was elsewhere. I got up and came out of the clinic building. In the courtyard, I found a niche under a tree, away from public eye, and sat down. I pulled my Chador on my face and burst into tears. I wished my sister was with me then. I wished Sheena was here. I wished Samad was beside me. O Allah! Why? You see my life. You know I’m alone and far away from my family in this city. How I can deal with all my works and taking care of my children single-handed. God! Please give me a remedy.

I was just talking with myself and crying. I went home, when I felt better. My kids were at Ms. Darabi’s house; when I wanted to take them, she realized that I’m upset. She asked about my story. First I said nothing, but at last I said everything to her. “Miss Qadamkheyr! Do not ingratitude.” she consoled me and said, “Pray God give to you a healthy baby.”

With annoyance, I took my kids and came back home. I went straight to the wardrobe, open it, grabbed my pregnancy dress that I wore it for every four baby, and with the anger I ripped and pulled it to pieces. I cried and said to myself: “I’ll be pregnant until this dress exists. I tore it to get rid of it.” The kids, who didn’t know what I was doing, looked at me wonderingly. I threw the ripped dress into the trash bin and shut its door angrily.

Ms. Darabi, who got worried about me, came into the kitchen with a pot of food. I was so upset that I hadn’t heard the sound of doorbell. The kids had opened the door for her. When she saw me on that condition sat down and talked to me. She spoke about her family and friends and acquaintances, who had seven or eight children; about families that yearned for having just one baby; about those who were very ungratefulness and now they have unhealthy child. Ms. Darabi’s speaking calmed me down. She got up, spread out the spread, served food, and wanted me insistently to eat something. “Don’t make your poor kids upset.” she said, “their father isn’t here. At least you don’t have a tantrum.”

It took a few weeks until I accepted my condition and got used to it.

To be continued…