The reception area is quiet and peaceful, with low lighting and indoor plants. Everything is designed to make you feel better. Under the aroma of furniture polish, I can just detect that horrible hospital smell that always makes my heart beat faster. But it’s nothing like the cloud of ammonia that hangs over the RPGH.

There are two ladies at reception, both in nurse’s uniforms. The one who steps forward to help Nosipho is wearing a kind smile and a badge that says “Sister Lumka Radipiwe”.

That’s all we wanted, I think. For someone to smile at Nos and welcome her and make her feel at ease during this difficult time. That’s what we raised the money for. Not for the smell of polish, or the garden, or the indoor plants. Just this – this little bit of human kindness.

Sister Radipiwe talks in a low, soothing voice to Nos- ipho and hands her a clipboard and pen. “If you could fill in this form, please. All information is kept strictly confidential.”

Nosipho sits down between us and starts writing her name. Lael and I smile at each other.

“Isn’t this amazing?”

“So much better than that last place with Nurse Ratched.”

“The sister is so kind!”

“Look how pretty the carpet is.”

Nosipho keeps her head down and writes. “Everything okay, babes?” Lael asks.

Nosipho doesn’t answer, but a tear splashes onto the form in front of her.

We’re quick to comfort her.

“Don’t worry, it will all be over soon,” Lael says.

“In a couple of hours, you’ll be in recovery, sipping juice and eating cookies,” I add.

Nosipho mumbles something.

We lean towards her. “What was that?”

“I said I don’t want it to be over.”

“You don’t?” We have no idea where she is going with this.

“I don’t want to be in recovery. I don’t want cookies and juice. I don’t want any of this.” Her voice starts out soft, but gets louder.

She lifts her head and we can see tears running down her face.
Lael and I are opening and closing our mouths like goldfish.
Sister Radipiwe comes running towards us. Thank goodness, she seems to know exactly what to say, because we don’t have a clue.

“Don’t cry, my darling. Don’t cry. Come and talk to Nurse. Come.” She leads Nosipho away to a quiet corner of the room.

Lael and I hesitate. I can see she is thinking the same thing I am – the last time a nurse talked privately to Nosipho, it didn’t end well.

I start to babble. “Listen. I know this isn’t strictly our business and we’re supposed to respect privacy and everything, but don’t you think…?”

“We should go bit closer?” Lael says.

“Yes, I do. That nurse can’t bully Nos if we’re standing right there.”

We do a sort of sideways shuffle that takes us across the lobby to where they’re standing. Lael crosses her arms and tries to look intimidating, and I do the same. This time I don’t have to translate because they are speaking English.

“I’m being silly, aren’t I?” Nosipho sobs. “I’m being ridiculous. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Nothing you are feeling is ridiculous,” says Sister Radipiwe. “It’s your body. This is your decision and nobody else’s. There is no right or wrong way to feel.”

“I was so sure a couple of weeks ago. I knew I didn’t want to go ahead with this pregnancy. I’d made up my mind. Why am I having doubts now?”

The nurse gives Nosipho’s hand a squeeze. “Talk to me, darling. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’ve been dreaming about it. The … the baby, you know? I dream about having a big tummy and about giving birth and then about having this little thing to care for. And … and I’ve been thinking about it in the daytime too, you know? Not just at night.”

“Okay. That’s all normal and natural. Everything you are feeling is very normal, including when you didn’t want to go ahead with the pregnancy. But no one can make this decision for you, darling.”

Nosipho sobs harder. “When … when my friend was talking about how I would feel when it was all over, I actually wanted to fight her. And when … when you guys were asking me to fill in the form, I just wanted to run away and protect my baby from all of you.”

The nurse rubs her arm. “That is what choice means, my dear. It means paying attention to everything you are feeling. If you don’t mind my asking, would you have any support if you decided to go ahead with this pregnancy?”

Nosipho glances up at us. We wipe the intimidating looks off our faces and aim for supportive instead. But Sister Radipiwe shakes her head.

“Not your friends, darling, important as they are right now. I’m talking about money, family, the father of the baby – people who will still be there in eighteen years’ time when you’re trying to send your child to university because you want nothing but the best for them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Nosipho is crying so hard now she can hardly speak. “I … I … don’t … know!” she sobs. “My … my … mom. But I haven’t … I haven’t … I haven’t even … told her!”

“Okay … okay. I understand. You must take all these factors into account when you make your decision.”

There’s a long pause while Nosipho sobs her eyes out, Sister Radipiwe rubs her back, and Lael and I stand around wringing our hands and feeling helpless. Even- tually, her crying slows down. There are gaps between the sobs, and I can see she is trying to pull herself together. She takes slow, deep breaths. Then she takes the tissue the sister is offering her and blows her nose. At last she looks up at all of us and presses her lips together to stop them from trembling.

“I don’t care,” she says. “I don’t care that I don’t know how my mom will react, or how Themba will react, or whether the school will kick me out. I’ll make a plan. We’ll be okay, my baby and I. I’ll work for the rest of my life to make sure we’re okay. And if I have to do it alone, that’s also fine. And I just want to say that I appreciate how kind you’ve been to me, Sister.”

She looks over at Lael and me. “And I appreciate that you guys raised money for me so I could do this privately. And I really, really appreciate that I live in a country where this is my choice. But I’ve made up my mind. I’m keeping this baby.”

***