FATIMA
As I was wheeled through the bustling corridors of the hospital, fluorescent lights flickered above, illuminating the faces of the medical team surrounding me. A nurse beside me was reading from a chart, her voice steady yet urgent. "Patient is a 35-year-old female, approximately 28 weeks pregnant. Involved in a severe car accident. Maternal-fetal emergency; baby's heart rate has dropped significantly after ultrasound assessment."
Panic gripped my chest as her words sank in. An emergency C-section? I felt dread pooling in my stomach, a knot of fear tightening with each word she spoke. My heart raced, and I instinctively reached for my belly, where my baby was nestled.
"Please, no," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Is my baby going to be okay?"
The nurse glanced at me, her eyes full of empathy. "We're doing everything we can, Fatima. Just breathe. We need to get you into the operating room as quickly as possible."
I turned my head, desperately searching for Zac, my husband. "Where's my husband?" I called out, my voice rising with anxiety. "He needs to be here! I need him!"
"Your husband was also in the accident," the nurse replied gently. "He's being treated in another area of the hospital. I'm so sorry, but he might not be able to join you right now."
A wave of despair washed over me at her words. "No! He has to be here! What about our kids? Are they okay?" I felt my heart race as I thought of our children. "Please tell me they're okay!"
The nurse's expression shifted to one of concern. "They're being assessed, but I don't have any updates on their conditions at this moment. Right now, we need to focus on you and the baby."
The fear in my chest turned to ice. "No, please! Not my family! They can't be hurt! I can't do this without them!" I was frantic now, my voice rising in pitch, drowning in the terror of the unknown.
"Fatima," the nurse said softly, her voice firm yet kind, "we're going to take care of you and your baby. We'll have someone update you on your family as soon as possible. But we need you to stay calm."
As we approached the operating room doors, I felt my anxiety rise. The world felt like it was closing in, and the cold metal of the gurney felt foreign against my skin. "Zac! Please, I need him!" I cried out, the tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Just focus on your baby," the nurse urged as they began transferring me from the gurney to the operating table. I could see the surgical lights above, bright and glaring, but all I could think about was my family.
"Zac!" I shouted one last time, desperate for him to hear me. Just then, the doors opened, and I saw him being wheeled in, his forehead bandaged and eyes filled with concern. Relief washed over me, mixed with the fear that still churned in my stomach.
"Fatima!" he called, trying to move closer despite the pain etched across his face. "I'm so sorry—I didn't know how badly I was hurt. How are you?"
"Zac, are you okay? What about the kids? Please tell me they're okay!" I felt my heart race as I searched his face for any sign of good news.
"They're being checked, but I don't have any details," he said, his voice strained but resolute. "I'm okay—just some bumps and bruises. But you... you need to focus on our baby."
I looked into his eyes, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. "I can't do this without you! Please, stay with me!"
"I'll be right here," he assured me, squeezing my hand tightly. "No matter what happens, I'm not going anywhere."
The medical team began prepping the room, and I felt a mix of fear and hope wash over me. The doctors moved with purpose, and I could see their determination as they prepared for the procedure.
