I hemorraghed when I was 32 weeks pregnant. My daughter was delivered via emergency c-section and careflighted to another hospital. I started dying on the delivery table. As my heart monitor started beeping slower and slower and my blood pressure started crashing, I asked only two things: was she alive and could I see her face. The anastethiologist kept hitting my right hand, calling my name, demanding I grab his hand. I could feel the frantic increase of pressure as the doctor moved his hands inside me, lifting my baby out of me.
She was alive and the nurse gave me a brief flash of her face before racing her off to the medical helicopter.
“I love you,” I told my husband. “I have to go now.” Then I blacked out.
Poor man aged overnight.
Two days later I was pulling out my IVs and demanding a release so I could go to her at the other hospital.
What is the difference between a mother willing to die for their child and one willing to kill their child?
One of them believes in God.
Bless you. Bless your sweet husband and precious daughter.