It was December 20, 1988. I was delivering my daughter when the delivery went wrong. The doctor had calculated the baby to be about 8 or so pounds. Since, I had delivered two babies before; he thought it would not be a problem. Well, that was not so. It was time to push the baby out. I did my best and was able to do the work. However, once her head came out, her body was too big and she was stuck. After a few minutes of trying to deliver her, the doctor spoke to my husband and I. He said we needed to make a decision. We had to choose who would live and who would die, the baby or me.
After he said that, I looked at him and told him there was no decision to be made. I told him I gladly gave up my life for her. My husband looked at me and I could see the tears in his eyes. I told him to take good care of our daughter and to tell my other kids that I loved them with all my heart. All this happened within seconds. The decision had to be made quickly because the baby’s lungs were being crushed by the birth canal. She was turning blue.
The doctor proceeded to explain what would happen next. They would take me to the operating room, break my hips, and pull the baby out. They said there was still a chance I could survive, but the procedure would cause massive internal bleeding and more than likely, I would die. I told him I was ok with it and to proceed. I reached out to Heaven and asked God to be with us. I asked him for a miracle, otherwise his will to be done. I had peace within me. I was willing to die for my baby. A choice any mother would make.
As they were getting me ready to move me to the operating room, the doctor looked at me and said. I want to try one more thing before we proceed. It is going to take three of us, but I think it will not hurt to try. I was all ears.
The plan was to insert forceps to grab the baby’s butt. At the same exact moment that he would pull, a nurse would jump on top of my stomach to create a giant push from the outside. When he gave the count, I was to push with all the strength I had left in me. He told me it would hurt a lot, but that it would be our last chance. I agreed to the plan.
Everything was set in place. He said we would do it to the count of three. I heard him count 1, 2, and 3. I screamed my heart out as I forced a labored strong push. The nurse jumped on my stomach and the doctor pulled. All of a sudden, I heard her scream, her color came back, and all were applauding. We did it. God heard my prayer. He tested my faith that day and I did not fail.
I think about that day every now and then. Specially, when I need to remember to keep my faith and to never doubt what he is capable of. All it takes is faith as small as a mustard seed. I guess that day, I had that much.
My daughter was born healthy at 10 pounds 2 ounces. Unbelievably, with God, she was born out of faith.