"Our Baby Almost Didn’t Make It" — A True Life Story of Survival, Faith, and a Mother’s Prayer.

On June 4th, 2012, I experienced what should have been one of the happiest days of my life I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. From the moment I held her in my arms, my heart felt like it had grown twice its size. My husband was overjoyed. Our families were excited, everyone was calling, celebrating she was perfect. That first night, I looked at her tiny face and whispered, “Welcome, my little angel. You’re safe.”

But I had no idea what was coming.

Just a few days after her birth, everything changed.

Her stomach began to swell in a way that didn’t seem normal. At first, we thought maybe it was gas, or just one of those newborn things. But it kept getting worse harder, tighter, painful to touch. She started crying more than usual. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. As a mother, your instincts scream even when others try to calm you.

We rushed her to the hospital. The moment the doctors saw her, they ordered tests and scans. Then came the news no parent ever wants to hear: she had a life-threatening intestinal problem. Emergency surgery was the only chance she had and even that didn’t guarantee survival.

She also needed to be placed on oxygen support immediately, and we were told, in the clearest of terms, that any delay could mean losing her. Just days after giving birth, my world was collapsing around me.

We were in panic. There was no time to think only act. We started calling friends, relatives, anyone. My husband was running from one end of the hospital to the other, trying to process bills, talk to doctors, make decisions. I was still weak from delivery, but I couldn’t rest my baby’s life was on the line.

Through the kindness of others and sheer determination, we gathered enough funds for the surgery to begin. I remember kissing her forehead as they wheeled her into the operating room, not knowing if I would ever get to hold her alive again.

By God’s mercy, the surgery was successful.

But our battle was far from over.

After the operation, her blood sugar levels dropped dangerously low. The medical team had to check her sugar every two hours. Because she couldn’t eat, she was placed on a glucose drip. She was kept on oxygen support for several days. Her little chest rising and falling with the help of machines it broke me.

Then came another terrifying development: her kidneys were overworking, and a powerful drug was urgently needed to support her organs. We didn’t know where the money would come from we had already exhausted everything. But again, we borrowed, begged, and did whatever it took. At that point, it wasn’t even about money. It was about doing everything humanly possible to save her life.

Each day in the hospital was a battle. I barely slept. I stayed by her side, whispering prayers, singing softly to her even when she couldn’t open her eyes. Nurses fed her my expressed breast milk through a tube, and I watched her tiny body fight harder than any adult ever could.

We spent 28 long days in that hospital. Every day brought new tests, new fears, and moments of both hope and heartbreak. My husband and I cried silently, not wanting to break in front of each other. We took turns staying strong, because someone had to hold the other up.

When we finally received the total bill, we were prepared for the worst but to our shock, it was less than we had feared, and with the help of those around us, it was fully settled.

And then, the words we had prayed for: “You can take her home.”

I can’t explain what it felt like to leave that hospital with our daughter in our arms alive. She had fought. We had all fought. And God had answered.

Today, when I look at her, I don’t just see a child. I see a miracle. A warrior. A second chance.