A FATHER’S PAIN
WRITTEN BY MICHAEL DOKOSI
It was a sweet sleep for me because I dreamt about Peter, Pamela, their mother and I having fun at the countryside in England where we had gone visiting relatives. We went horse riding and swimming. I woke up later to find that it was all just a dream.
I took a look at my wrist watch. The time read half past four in the morning. I lay still on the bed, thinking about the tragedy that had rocked my family. Then I thought about the prospects of me becoming a biological father soon after my fertility treatment. That gave me something to be cheerful about. However, being in Peter and Pamela’s room and feeling their presence all over made it very difficult for me to stop thinking about them. Despite the results of the DNA and the fertility test later on, I still found it difficult to accept that Peter and Pamela were not my biological children.
Didn’t they have some resemblance to me? On countless occasions, many people had talked about how Peter in particular resembles me. Yet, tests had proved that he was not my biological child. Even worse, I was not fertile enough to father a child. I sighed, feeling very depressed.
At 5:00am, I finally left the room and sneaked back to mine. I quickly had a shower after which I phoned a private detective I knew. I told him about my estranged wife and my children. Then I asked him if he could trace where my wife now lives with the children.
“No problem boss” he replied. His name was E.C. Otoo. He had been my friend for years but I had never taken his business seriously. Private Investigators thrive in advanced countries, not in countries like Ghana. At least, so I thought. Now, I needed him desperately.
We discussed how much it will cost me and quickly settled on a figure. He, however, will receive payment only after he had successfully carried out the task entrusted to him.
That morning, I told John and Efe that I was going to teach them how to play tennis. They were surprised. Efe’s countenance indicated that she was not enthusiastic about the idea. She was a very reserved person.
“Efe, all work and no play will make you a dull person. Let us get out and have some fun. Tennis is fun” I told her. Reluctantly, she went to change into a sports wear. We all immediately set off for the tennis club.
Only a few people were present when we arrived. This enabled me ample opportunity to teach them how to play tennis. John grasped the rudiments faster than Efe. Within an hour, they were playing against each other.We spent two hours at the tennis club before we finally returned home.
Hardly had we reached home when my phone rang. It was Otoo, the investigator. He said he had spent the entire morning in search of my wife and the children and had discovered that the children had been flown out of the country.
I was crestfallen and heartbroken. Nora had sent the children beyond my reach. I went to my room, fell on the bed and burst into tears. I was still crying when Efe came to knock on the door.
“Food is ready, sir. Yam and palaver sauce!” she announced cheerfully. Steadying my voice, I told her I will be out soon. I went to the bathroom, had my bath and later emerged from the bedroom to dine with John and Efe. I could see they were in high spirits. The tennis had done them a lot of good.
We had our meal together. Over the meal, John popped out the multi-billion dollar question.
“Sir, I am confident that your fertility treatment will yield positive results. Who will be the lucky woman to be the mother of your biological children?” he asked.
The question took me by surprise. I could see it took Efe too by surprise. I paused for a while and then shrugged, saying if we get to the river, we will know how to cross it.
The idea of me marrying again was not that which appealed to me. I loved Nora so much so after what she had done to me, I did not see the need to fall in love with another woman.
After that question, there was silence as we ate, each person buried in thought. Finally, we finished eating. I returned to my study to read but just as I was getting engrossed in what I was reading, my phone rang. I picked the call to be greeted by a familiar voice.
“Peter!” I screamed out, dropping the book in my hand”.
A FATHER’S PAIN
WRITTEN BY MICHAEL DOKOSI
He screamed my name. I quickly asked him where he was.
“New York” he said. “Daddy, we want to come to you. We are not happy. We want to come to you”.
“I miss you, Peter. You will always be my son and I will always be your daddy,” I heard myself say. I heard him begin to cry so I tried to console him.
“Daddy, come for us, please. Come for us!” he said. I was about to say I will when the line dropped dead.
Had his mother found him out and taken the phone away from him? Or, his units had run out. Quickly, I searched for the number on which he called me only to find to my dismay that the name did not appear on the screen. I felt helpless.
Hearing Peter had an effect on me. It made me yearn for him and his sister. But, I had to also remember that it had been established that I was not the biological father of the children.
Then I began to wonder who the biological father of Peter and Pamela was if I was not their biological father. Was it Edwin, my bosom friend who I had caught in bed with my wife? Or, it was another man I did not know? Did it mean that all these while, my wife was having an affair with another man? Then my thoughts drifted to Nora, my estranged wife. After the treatment she had meted out to me, I had lost interest in women entirely. But I knew that once I was through with my fertility test I had to get involved with a woman so I will be able to have my own biological children. I sighed!
Monday finally came after a boring weekend. It was the day I was to begin my fertility treatment. I had a sugarless and milkless tea as advised by the fertility doctor. Afterwards, I set off with John for the fertility center.
Finally, we arrived there. I got down and went to see Dr. Paul Quansah. He explained to me once more the process I was going to be taken through. Then he said for the avoidance of doubt, I had to take another fertility test to first of all, certify that I was not fertile and secondly, to enable him determine the extent of my infertility.
“No problem, doc. I am hopeful that all will go on well. I can’t wait to have my own children,” I said. Dr. Quansah beamed with a smile.
A lady in a white overall came to escort me to a lab and handed me over to the laboratory man who gave me a small bottle and asked me to provide my semen. I was asked to go into a room and do all I can to get my semen. That meant self- stimulation. After about thirty minutes, I emerged and handed over to him the bottle in which my semen was. Then I went to sit in the waiting room. An hour later, a nurse came for me, saying my result was ready so I had to see the doctor.
Once more, I found myself seated in front of Dr. Quansah who looked at me quizzically as if I was funny.
“Well, Dr. Mensah, our test proved that you are fertile so I don’t understand why you are here,” he said.
His statement was like a joke. I asked if he could repeat what he said.
“I said the result of the fertility test we conducted on you shows that you are fertile so I don’t see why you are here.”
I was shocked, and then decided that the doctor was playing a joke on me. He handed me the result of the test to read. I read through it three times. It said I was fertile and could father a child any day. There was therefore no need for me to undergo a fertility treatment.
………….to be continued…………