This article was submitted for the Making Moms Proud | Mother's Day contest 2024, organized by Gold Winner.
As Mother's Day approaches, my heart reminisce with the unbreakable bond between my mother and me. It was a day etched in my memory, ten days before my due date, when my world tilted on its axis.
The urgency in the hospital walls echoed as the doctor's grave expression mirrored the gravity of the situation. The words "increased fetal blood flow" and "emergency c-section" hung heavily in the air.
Months of dedication to achieving a normal delivery, including a daily 10,000-step walk, one hour of pelvic floor exercises, an hour of prenatal yoga in the evening, and 100 squats, flashed before my eyes. The flood of emotions was overwhelming, and the hopes for a natural birth seemed distant.
In that moment, all I wanted was to avoid the surgery. "Give me an injection to induce labor pain," I pleaded, hoping for a different outcome. But reality set in as the doctor explained the risks, and I reluctantly agreed to the c-section.
In this turn of events, my husband's promise to stand by me broke as responsibilities called, compelling him to depart from the hospital. He assured me he would return within two hours. I clutched his hand, seeking solace in his presence, but he reluctantly released his grip and left me to navigate the anxious hours ahead alone.
The pre-procedure preparations began, but I had a phobia for Injections. When the nurse attempted to insert the needle into my vein for the first time, my hands swelled, and blood flowed heavily. Tears streamed down my face as the nurse made another attempt, resulting in a torrent of blood and tears from my eyes.
My mother rushed to the hospital as soon as she heard the news, joining me in this emotional turmoil. Tears started dropping like rain as my mother came near, holding my hand and asking, 'Is everything really good?'
Her strict upbringing during my childhood resulted in a distinct lack of closeness between us. It was the first time she held my hand; we had rarely touched or sat close for years.
In that moment, her touch spoke volumes, bridging years of disconnect. I have always known my mother to be a pillar of strength, never letting her emotions show. Yet, as I reflect on her unwavering discipline and sacrifices, I realize that her guidance has shaped me in profound ways. Her strength became a living example of how to navigate challenges and pursue career goals.
With her by my side, I confessed,"I am a failure,"
"You are strong," she affirmed, drawing from her own experiences of childbirth.
My mother gently brushed my head and spoke, "Ramya, your sister's birth was a normal delivery for me. However, for you, it was twelve hours of labor, sleepless nights, and ultimately an emergency c-section for our well-being. In those times, c-sections were stigmatized."
My mother continued, "Few things are not in hand. You are strong; you will recover swiftly. This thought will fade once you hold your child," she affirmed. Her words of comfort induced confidence in me as she wiped my tears, and I cooperated with the nurse.
As I was wheeled towards the operating room, I not only went with emotional and physical strength but also with resilience inherited from generations of strong women. My mother's hand on mine, a silent vow of support, gave me the courage to embrace the journey ahead.
Motherhood, I realized, isn't just about giving birth; it's about enduring and learning. My journey to motherhood was marked by challenges, but it was also adorned with support and the enduring strength passed down through generations.
To all the mothers who navigate storms with grace, love unconditionally, and inspire resilience, Happy Mother's Day. You are the pillars of strength, the silent warriors who shape futures with love, courage, and unwavering determination.
As the doctor announced, "It's a B-O-Y... boy," and I heard his first cry, the way of his arrival—whether through c-section or natural birth—faded into insignificance.
In that moment, he became my world, filling my heart with love.
