“Hello, Erin. We almost lost you … but the
situation is now under control. Your placenta
became detached and your daughter went into fetal
suffering. You lost a lot of blood but you are now
stable.”
I nod, not sure I really understand.
“Erin, if the situation doesn’t improve, if you
should have another hemorrhage, we will have to
proceed with an emergency cesarean.”
“But the baby is too small. She’s just in the
thirtieth week!” I protest without enough strength.
“Thirty weeks is still viable for the baby. We
have had cases of premature births where the
children have bounced back and been perfectly
well.”
“No, no!” I argue with him, trying to move
when a new fit of pain hits me and I instinctively
shut my eyes.
“Bring her upstairs,” the doctor says to the
others and they prepare me for being moved.
“I’m sorry Erin, we can’t wait any longer,” he
tells me. “We have to do it now.”
“Mama!” I cry, holding her hand.
“It’s going to be alright, dear. I am here.”
“Mama, listen,” I say as they run me down the
corridor putting my oxygen mask back on.
“What is it?”
“Call Father,” I try to get the words out but
they’re garbled and I know I’m losing my senses
again.
