Not sure why - but one of the scariest moments in my life sprang to my mind today. The day that my placenta tore. The day that they told me there was nothing they could do. It would either repair itself or it wouldn't. Our baby would either continue to grow in the warmth of my womb, or her tenuous grasp would slip and we would lose her. There was nothing they could do.
I sat there, bleeding, waiting for the doctor to come. But he didn't come. The bleeding stopped and they attempted to send this terrified, horrified mother home.
No. She wouldn't go. The bleeding starting again and this mom demanded to see a physician. ("If the doctor on call is too busy, find me one who isn't!!")
A physician finally arrived and did an ultra sound. "The baby's heart is still beating. She's still there. You haven't lost her (yet)."
And so, we went home, scared that this little life we had tried so hard to create would slip away from us.
We waited. We waited, hoping nothing would happen. There would be no more bleeding. There would be no more cramping. That our little baby would hang onto that uterine wall, that the placenta tear would heal itself, and that nothing would happen to that little life growing inside of me.
And she was spared. She continued to grow and thrive, and today she is our 6 year-old little Alex. Full of life, wonder, and joy.
She is a miracle.
**
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