My name is Sarah, and right now I’m sitting beside my child’s hospital bed, watching the monitors blink in the dim light.
Nothing in this world prepares you for the moment your baby — your whole heart walking outside your body — is fighting for their life.
I keep thinking this can’t be real. Just weeks ago, we were planning birthday parties, arguing over bedtime stories, and chasing giggles through the house. Now the only sounds are the soft beeps of machines and the quiet rhythm of my child’s breathing. I hold their small hand, so fragile, so warm, and I whisper the same words over and over:
“Please stay. Please fight. Mommy’s right here.”
