At Amaka’s house, I made an appointment with a gynecologist.
I wanted a proper examination, not another round of rumors and assumptions.
The doctor listened to my medical history, asked about my menstrual cycle, and reviewed the investigations I had undergone in previous years.
She explained that fertility can be complicated, that normal results do not guarantee pregnancy, and that a careful assessment may still reveal useful information.
She also reminded me that fertility difficulties are not automatically a woman’s fault.
I sat in her office, listening to those words, and felt a weight lift from my chest.
For six years, I had carried shame that had never belonged to me alone.
I had allowed people to speak about my body as if I had deliberately denied my husband a child.
The doctor did not promise me a miracle.
She did not tell me that a particular treatment would definitely work.
