Week 29, Saturday night, after a shower, the water started dripping, without a doubt it was water…

I call my mother, change clothes, grab a towel and run to the maternity ward, wait until they admit us, explain to us that there is no room in the maternity ward and it is better for us to immediately evacuate by ambulance to the nearest hospital. A journey that seemed like an eternity…

In the ward they explained to me: "You stay here until the birth and we really hope you stay here as long as possible, until week 35 and then surgery" (my great-grandmother is a cesarean section specialist), and thoughts start running through my head about how I'm leaving my daughter without a mother for more than a month.

She doesn't sleep all night, just cries into her pillow, her husband is long gone - he has a child to take care of, she's still crying all morning the next day and then decides that enough is enough, this is what it is, she needs to be strong for her older daughter, for her husband and, just as importantly, for the fetus.

This is how I "spend" in the high-risk pregnancy ward, the beds next to me change every day/two days and I stay, the nurses become best friends with the actual nurses, I already know their shift schedule by heart, every day I talk to my daughter in the morning before kindergarten and at night before going to bed, giving me encouragement...

Thursday afternoon, fetal heart rate drops on the monitor - a long two-hour monitor, the next monitor is a little better, still worried, we'll see what happens in the morning.

Friday, they wake me up at 6:00 to the monitor - again low heart rate, they prepare me for surgery if necessary and take me to the maternity ward, monitor, still low heart rate, they decide to operate...

10:00 You go into surgery, my husband and parents are outside, keeping their cool, and I'm in the room on the operating table. Every minute seems like an eternity... Something gets complicated, they put me to sleep.

I wake up after three hours, the surgeon comes in - starts explaining to me about the complication they got into, I yell at him that I'm not interested in anything, I just want to know that my son is alive and breathing, he yells back at me that I'm interrupting him in the middle of the explanation, "Be thankful you have another child at home because you're not sure you can handle a third pregnancy"... The baby is fine, miraculously came out healthy and unharmed, it turns out that because there was no water everything was stuck to the uterine wall and it was very difficult for the doctors to remove the fetus and get to the placenta.

The ending is good, all is well. I have a lovely five-month-old baby at home - it's not obvious that he was in the hospital for three weeks. My eldest is amazing, she welcomed her brother with joy and love, and even after three doctors we saw, we were told that if we wanted another pregnancy, it was possible - at high risk, but possible...