In a hurry to get out

I worked right up to the week of my first child’s delivery and stopped only two days prior, simply because my boss told me, “You’d better go home.” That very week, we also shifted houses. When my contractions began, I took a hot bath and even managed to sleep that night. I reached the hospital early the next morning, and within a few hours (okay, those few hours were terrible, and I screamed my lungs out), my 3.76 kg baby was in our arms. He was huge, healthy, and feeding well in no time.

No Two Pregnancies Are Alike

A few years later, when I was pregnant with my second child, I assumed I would cruise through it more easily than the first. After all, I was more experienced. So, against popular advice, I used a two-wheeler and went about life as usual through the first few months.

Around the fifth month, I was teaching a week-long series of sessions to a group of teenagers. On the last day, as I was getting ready to leave home, I noticed spotting (bleeding). I was worried but didn’t think it would be too serious. I went to the hospital anyway. By then, the bleeding had increased.

The nurse who examined me said nothing directly to me, but I heard her call the doctor and say, “She is having an abortion.” My world collapsed. I called my spouse, who was waiting outside, and shared the shocking news.

Miracle of an Emergent Cerclage

The doctor instructed that I be prepared for the operation theatre by the time she arrived. While I was in the OT, my family, friends, and the entire community, including the children I worked with, were praying fervently for a miracle. The doctor had already told my husband that a positive outcome was unlikely.

When I came out of the OT and regained consciousness, my spouse shared the news. As the doctor began the procedure, she saw that the sac was literally coming out, but it had not ruptured. She gently pushed it back in and stitched the cervix, a procedure called cervical cerclage, or emergent cerclage. She admitted that she had never performed a cerclage after the sac had protruded and said we would have to wait and see what happened.

Over the next few days of monitoring in the hospital, the baby seemed to be doing well. The doctor agreed to send me home only after I promised complete bed rest with my leg elevated. My baby was clearly in a hurry to come out, and we needed to keep him in as long as possible.

We didn’t even have a cot at home, we slept on the floor. But by the time we returned, a friend had arranged a bed with the leg side elevated. Thank God for friends.

Bed Rest

Thus began one of the most challenging periods of my life. For someone who cannot sit quietly for even a minute, and who walks around even while talking on the phone, bed rest felt like a life sentence.

But the fear that my lack of discipline could harm my baby kept me in bed, albeit grumpy. I marked days on the calendar, hoping for a full-term delivery… soooooon.

It was extremely difficult not to carry or play with my first son, who found it hard to understand what was happening.

This was also a very challenging time for my spouse. He had to manage all the parenting, household work, and care for me, while also trying to balance his regular work and a PhD. Eventually, he had to give up his PhD, it was all too much.

To top it all, I was irritable and often unreasonable, struggling to come to terms with the sudden changes in my life. Questions tormented me: What went wrong? If my first pregnancy was so easy, why was this one so hard? What if I lose this baby because of my carelessness? Bed rest and these thoughts felt like punishment.

Back at the Hospital

We managed a month, and the baby was now six months in the womb. I began to feel that perhaps the doctor was exaggerating the need for strict bed rest. I started moving around a little. One day, when we were expecting guests, I slipped out of bed to tidy up a few things. Everything seemed fine.

But the next morning, I was back in the hospital with the same problem, the baby was again in a desperate hurry to come out, despite the stitches. Back to the OT we went. Once again, the doctor had to stitch the cervix. She said performing emergent cerclage twice for the same baby was a first and that it might, or might not, work.

Once again, prayers were answered, and the baby seemed willing to stay in for a few more weeks.

Born and Shifted to the NICU

Those days were filled with fear, anxiety, frustration, hope, and expectation. Another month passed, very slowly. By the end of the seventh month, he was impatient again. Back to the hospital.

We hoped for another narrow escape, but this time it was not to be. He was born, and he cried. He seemed fine, and I thought life would finally return to normal. I had no idea what lay ahead.

Even while I was still in the labour room, my son was shifted to the neonatal ICU. I assumed he would be fine in a few days and that we would all go home together. But that was not the case. He had a long battle ahead just to survive.

A month of uncertainty followed, tests, infections, antibiotics, and endless cycles of extracting milk and sterilizing containers.

He was too weak and small to suck and weighed only 1.5 kg. He was so tiny that I was afraid I might squash him. He lay in an incubator, and I could visit him, try to feed him, hold him briefly, and then place him back inside.

The NICU was always full of babies with multiple complications. Parents waited outside endlessly, not knowing what would happen next. Every day after rounds, the doctor would meet the parents and update them. Waiting to meet the doctor felt like waiting for board exam results, you hoped for good news but feared the worst.

My son’s doctor was incredible, always cheerful amid emergencies, deeply supportive and encouraging, yet never offering false hope. Dr. Archana, you rock.

Even the doctors didn’t have all the answers and tried various treatments they believed might help. It took time to identify the infection and learn how best to treat it.

Fear

Fear became my constant companion. I, who had always believed I could handle whatever life threw at me, suddenly found myself broken, pleading with God not to take my son away. For the first time, I understood what it meant to be completely helpless and out of control.

By profession, I was a people-helper and social worker. I was usually the one listening, encouraging, and supporting other mothers. But now, I had almost no energy to give. I was caught in my own whirlwind.

Through God’s amazing grace, the prayers of loved ones, and the skill of doctors, my son slowly began to improve. After a month, he was sent home to see how he would cope.

We brought him home, but my fear did not leave me. Every feeding terrified me, he still couldn’t suck well, and I was afraid he would aspirate. Every two hours, the cycle repeated: extract milk, feed him, sterilize everything, and begin again.

Sleep was scarce, but those quiet hours became moments of prayer and reflection. We talked about life, relationships, priorities, and vision. What truly mattered? What did we really want from life?

Life Lessons

These experiences taught me two profound lessons.

First, there is no point in living in fear of losing a loved one. Life offers no guarantees. It throws unexpected challenges at us, and we must be prepared to face them. Love your loved ones while they are with you. Celebrate them.

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Second, enjoy the moment. The only certainty we have is this moment, this moment with our loved ones, our dreams, and our passions.

Live it to the fullest. If your parents, spouse, and children are with you today, cherish that time. Love deeply. Laugh freely. Be present. If you have a dream or a passion, pursue it. Today is all we truly have.

My sons are now nine and seven, both doing well by God’s grace. I am deeply thankful for all I have, family, friends, and meaningful, fulfilling work.

While I have these blessings, I choose to value them, enjoy them, and make the most of them. That is the lesson life taught me, and one I hope I never forget.