THE REJECTION LETTER.

My ancestors must be on holiday in Mauritius, sipping on mojitos and have forgotten to leave a forwarding address because this has been the month from hell. It seems since this pandemic hit we are all just getting by with our minds screaming constantly for attention while our hearts want us to feel all in a span of 8-10 waking hours. Five days ago, I opened that dreadful email that all founders of NGOs/ startups detest, “Thank you for your recent application for a grant at… we are writing to inform you that your application was unfortunately not successful.” I was heading home as I read this, the pain hit right between my breasts. I couldn’t breathe. I started hyperventilating, my brain starting screaming “HERE WE GO AGAIN, SHE’S GOING TO FAINT! I told her not to keep putting us in these scenarios of rejection!!but does she listen, no!” I thank God this year I learnt the power of deep breathing. I gathered myself right in the middle of traffic and started breathing in, hold it and big breath out(haaa) about 3 times then I re-read the email. The worst thing about these damn emails is you can’t help but take it personally. I dissected the email which was as vague as ever, I don’t know why for people like us, donors don’t clearly spell it out. Yes, I am those people who look for closure and it’s gotten me in more messes than I like to admit.

The worst of rejection letter I ever received was on 15th March 2017 at a doctor’s office. I had never felt this much physical and emotional pain in one go, I literally lost my footing, I wanted to puke and pass out at the same time. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes started watering then my ears began to ring: that is the epitome of these attacks because at this point you can’t hear anything not even yourself think. The doctor had just told me that my pregnancy wasn’t viable at 7 weeks and 4 days. Now for any woman who has never received this news, I can’t explain the turmoil going on in your body and soul, the questions are endless and yet the answers don’t seem to be adequate. Like how? Why? What do you mean these things just happen? What do I do now? Are you sure? Can we repeat the scan? Endless questions.

James introduced me to this here world of grief and love intertwined into one cord. I had never felt so much love for a being that I was yet to meet and at the same time I had never felt that much sorrow for someone I never met.

Denise Kekimuri

Early pregnancy loss is the worst because not many people know about the pregnancy, the ones who do seem to think that because you didn’t get to meet the baby physically you are ok. That’s not true. As soon as a woman finds out she’s going to be a mother, the “feel good” hormones activate and we get into the conscious preparation season, so what do I do now. Our bodies don’t just go back to normal, they take a while to get the memo so in the meantime you’re still getting morning sickness, nausea, the soreness of breasts and cravings. It’s confusing. It’s depressing. It’s lonely.

The flash backs to James’ self-abort are still very raw in my mind, this was 2017 and yet whenever I go to that particular toilet I can see the crimson chunks all over the white porcelain toilet bowl. I never mourned James. I intentionally closed up and made myself OK by all means. I jumped back on the horse as was advised by other women who had experienced the similar loss.

I wish I knew then what I know now. That each loss requires of us to respect and honor the process. I didn’t do this and I ended up having to deal with complicated grief after Keitangaza’s death. James’ grief showed up, unannounced, commanding her space and I was thrown off totally. Imagine having to compare grieves as if that’s even possible. They were each equally painful but James’ demanded answers for questions I had long shut out and guess what? I had to go back to the beginning, trace my missteps, root the undealt with pain, acknowledge it for what it came to teach me and let it go. Now, I write this knowing it’s not as simple as that. I didn’t complete this process till March 2020. What happened?

I got the answer to why James rejected my womb!

Vessel is Me was invited for the Fertility Show Africa 2020, one of the talks caught my eyes on miscarriages: the silent deaths. I was so intrigued by the Doctor’s talk. He said that after the first miscarriage the mother and her partner/spouse should go see a fertility specialist to investigate the cause of the miscarriage and prevent another. This was the first time I was hearing this. As the talk continued I understood that Bible Verse my people perish for lack of knowledge. After the talk, I booked an appointment with the Doctor and I was diagnosed with PCOS i.e. Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome.

This is a hormonal, metabolic and reproductive disorder that affects women. It’s the leading cause of female infertility in the world. The types are either adrenal (high male hormones) or high insulin resistance (your body stops processing insulin) common cause is genetic predispositon. I was both excited because I had found the bloody cause but angry at myself for not knowing this before. Upon return to Uganda, I told my team that we had to spread this like wildfire. With the few Fertility specialists we have, we need women and men of reproductive age to get to know their statuses. Ignorance WAS NOT bliss in this case. We needed to pump people with as much information as possible and solutions to these preventable deaths.

This year on 15th October 2021, my candle shone bright for James. For the rejection letter that changed my life’s trajectory. Rest in Hope omurungi wa mummy.