It was the beginning of December 1994. I was in the last weeks of my pregnancy and was terrified that I wouldnt finish my exams in time, that the final semester would slip away before I could take an academic leave. Losing half a year of study felt like a waste, and with my round belly I found myself climbing aboard the massive coaches that dwarfed me, their wheels almost as tall as I was. You might wonder why I took a coach instead of a regular bus. The answer was simple: the country was still feeling the aftershocks of the earlynineties recession, fuel was scarce and the normal bus routes ran only sporadically. Luckily, at the crack of dawn a workcoach would pull up at the end of our little village lane, scooping up the handful of lucky workers who needed to get to the nearby factories. I was always let on first, with a chorus of mutters about how I should be staying home and how a pregnant woman in a thirtydegree frost at seven oclock should be tucked into a warm bed. Every morning, as I shuffled toward the battered door of the workshop, the men would sigh in unison, Blimey, she still hasnt given birth! Yet I had to reach my lectures in the next town at any cost.
What worried me most was the estimated date of delivery. After another visit to the midwife, I asked, Mrs. Lydia Peterson, when should I expect the baby? I need to sit the exams so the semester isnt lost.
Dont worry, love, she said kindly. Itll be early in the second week of January, so youll be ringing in the New Year with a belly full of baby. Mrs. Peterson was not only an excellent doctor, she was a trusted friend, and that answer steadied my nerves. Then I had a strange dream
I dont dream often, but when I do, the visions feel vivid and carry a hidden message that clicks into place the moment I wake. In this dream I was strolling through a bustling market, looking for a candle. Stalls lined the square, each seller displaying rows of candles. I approached each stall and asked, How much for a candle? Most quoted the same price nineteen pence except one stallkeeper, who proudly demanded twenty pence.
Why so pricey? I asked.
Because our candles are pure white and perfectly shaped, he replied with a smile. I hesitated, wondering whether to spend the extra penny. Id always bought candles for three pence before. Yet, as if pulled by an invisible hand, I handed the man a twentypenny piece and walked away with his candle, feeling foolish. A voice rang in my ear, Dont regret it. Twenty pence it is. I woke up instantly, the meaning clear, and rushed to Mrs. Petersons office.
Could I have a list of everything Ill need for the hospital? I asked.
Youll get that later. Why are you here now? she replied, bewildered.
I know my contractions will start on the night of 19December and the baby will be born on the morning of the 20th. Can you adjust the dates on my chart?
Mrs. Petersons mouth opened and closed in surprise, then she burst into laughter, saying the hormones must be playing tricks, and sent me out the door.
I didnt waste a moment. I arranged with my lecturers to sit the remaining exams early; they were sympathetic to my unusual circumstance.
The evening of 19December I returned from my last class, finished my chores and collapsed onto the sofa to watch my favourite soaps at the time, a pair of British channelfive dramas, one called My Second Mum and the other I cant recall, both starting around eight oclock. As the first series ended, I felt a gentle flutter in my belly. Midway through the second programme the pains grew sharper, and my mother, panicking, reached for the phone to call an ambulance. I wont go until I finish the episode, I told her stubbornly.
At 11p.m. the ambulance arrived, but the paramedic hesitated to drive, fearing I might deliver in the back of the van. I reassured her that I still had time. By midnight I was lying alone in a predelivery ward, advised to rest while the birth would begin in seven or eight hours. Sleep eluded me; I paced the corridors until the inevitable moment for a woman labor finally arrived. The nurses wheeled me into the operating theatre just as the doctors announced rapid delivery.
At 3:45a.m. on 20December, I became a mother, just as the calendar had promised. Everything went smoothly, and I awaited my discharge when Mrs. Peterson, now on duty, spotted my name on the register of births. She looked at me in disbelief, then quietly asked how I had known the exact date. I simply said, I saw it in a dream.
She stopped laughing, thought for a moment, and whispered, Perhaps one day youll dream of me too. Promise youll tell me about it.
That night, as I cradled my newborn, I realised that life often hands you a candle sometimes costing a penny more than expected and its up to you whether you hold onto it with regret or gratitude. The lesson is clear: trust the flicker of intuition, embrace the uncertainty, and remember that every extra penny, every uneasy step, can light the way to something wondrous.
