3 years ago today, Christmas celebrations came to a grinding halt.
Shaking in distress after her discovery in the bathroom, she woke her husband to let him know. There was substantial bleeding.
3 years ago today a heavily pregnant woman carrying twins was driven to the local hospital. Crying all the way, begging, pleading for her unborn babies to hang on, to stay safe until they could reach a doctor.
Arriving at the hospital, only to be told that she would yet need to be taken away by ambulance, but waiting for endless hours on a hospital bed until someone could cart her away.
3 years ago today, a distressed mother laid quietly in the rickety gurney as she was rolled into an ambulance. Comforted by a dutiful midwife, a stranger who was missing out on her own Christmas celebrations with her young family.
“Trust me. You won’t have the babies here. They’re safe, I’m sure. I’m just here as a precaution and we’ll get you to your hospital safely, ” reassured the midwife, studying the fear on her pregnant patient’s face.
3 years ago today those words were spoken but will be remembered as the hope this mother desperately clung onto.
3 long, tedious days of medical tests, routinely checking heart rates, blood pressure, any kind of movement. Without any clear answer to the bleeding, only to be advised that the birth of two babies was going to happen sooner than expected.
And without given a definite cause or understanding of what had tragically happened, a somber couple were sent home on New Year’s Eve. Untimely dumped with a heavy reality while a city began its celebrations and fireworks.
3 years ago today, I sank deeper into the frightening journey of being a parent; consumed with constant worry; left helpless to protect my unborn to the dangers and harm of the world.
Firmly clutching the power of relentless hope and continous prayers; having faith that all would be as it should; determined to see the safe arrival of my twin sons.
Exactly 3 years ago today.