She has been lying on her bed. A pleasant lady, determined to keep her baby for the next 14 weeks, full of hope and faith, so much love to give for the new life in her womb. Her husband would come in at dawn, try to get some sleep on the couch while keeping her company, leave after making sure his wife eats her lunch, get ready for work for another night, and come back at dawn to bring her favorite food and live another day through. It's been two weeks since their new routine started.
She bled one month after a surgery done to keep her baby from coming out too soon. She had been on bed rest ever since the cerclage. Day and night, she holds on to her rosary, whispering a prayer every chance she gets. She talks to her baby while her husband's left hand rests on her tummy, and the other holding her hand. He then brings his face close to the bulge to kiss and talk to the baby from the outside, hoping that the little wonder could hear and feel them.
The medications she was given were nearing toxic level, and her body was almost giving up. However, she promised to keep the baby and would do all means whatever it takes, even risking her life. She managed to tolerate the pain and the horrible feeling of being physically limited, the difficulty of accepting a possible loss, and the frustration of having a normal pregnancy. Eventually, the time has come to make a decision. The fetal heart rate was dipping. Her condition was getting worse. Her clear voice now sounded like a soft whisper, tears forming in her eyes, her face showing extreme sadness, and said "sorry" to her husband who was then running his fingers through her hair and his other hand holding hers. While the team promised to do their best, there was no assurance about the baby's condition at 25 weeks gestation. Even then, she tried to be strong, thinking about being a good mother at least for the time being. All she could do was pray and wait.
They dozed her off. A few moments later, the baby was born. Breathless. The most awaited baby girl, covered in fine, downy hair, her skin transluscent, her feet just the size of her mother's thumb. The new mommy was awakened by the sound of two people talking, taking her to a room where the new daddy was waiting. She could barely talk and everything looked hazy when she opened her eyes. Her husband held her hands and said, "I saw our angel. She even winked at me." she smiled with tears rolling down her closed eyes. They both survived.
But the story didn't end there. She had complications from giving birth. She was given all sorts of treatment but her fever was going up. Her agony continued 10 more days, but remained strong for her new family, especially for her daughter which proved to be strong as well.
It's been a year and a half now since it happened: my own humbling story. My daughter is now catching up with kids her age. Pretty active and babbles a lot. She can now sing the last line of the "happy birthday" song. We feel so blessed that we have her, and that we have been given a chance to be parents.
And for the patient who changed my life? I learned a lot from what I went through. My life did change after that, not because i'm now a mom, but because I have experienced how difficult it is to be a patient who can only hope for the best. They deserve more than just medical treatment. They need our comforting and encouraging words, our patience, and every little thing to help ease the pain they are going through.
It is not easy being a patient. When I was one, I counted on the nurses, and I am so thankful they delivered. I vowed to do the same.Last edit by Joe V on Jun 16, '18