Miracle Child: How They Almost Lost Me

By Strella Germino

It was eight years after the second millennium, the third month of the year, and on the sixth day. The night sky, dark and silent, loomed over the place. Inside a small unfancy house was a couple. The woman who had her dress rolled up to her waist seemed restless, even aching. On her right side was a man, with his thick brows crumpled above his nose bridge. They were praying.

Hours passed yet their emotions remained high. He rubbed her belly from time to time, tears rushing along the mountains of his cheeks. Meanwhile, the woman felt contractions squeezing her intestines. It was gut-wrenching–literally. Then the midwife began the procedure.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Push!

Those were the only sounds in the room throughout the next few minutes. The clock was ticking back and forth, and so was the woman’s breath. The sky was still dark, as was her vision; the woman fell unconscious.

"God..." begged the man.

The man usually neither begs nor pleads. Not even once. His look, a stoic face that’s almost emotionless, radiating contentment. He never complained; he just went with it.

“Please…” His hoarse voice pleaded in an almost whispered tone.

The woman, half-conscious, her eyes squinting, had been awake all day since the contractions began. The sheets were crumpled from her grip, and she was fixated in her position: both legs raised, her head supported by multiple pillows. She needed rest, yet she could not allow herself to relax.

"If only mom were here," she inhaled, reminiscing about the times when her mother was still around.

Her eyes betrayed her as they closed for a moment. Engulfed in pitch darkness, she felt utterly alone, scared, and anxious–ntil she saw a figure she dearly loved amidst the emptiness. She saw the person she needed most. It was her long-gone mother.

The woman reunited with her mother, even if it was only in her mind. Her mother's lips curled into a comforting smile, just as they used to when she was still alive. The mother offered a reassuring expression as she said, "It will be okay." The woman's heart melted at her mother’s words. she smiled back as her mother faded away.

After hearing her four words, she uttered to herself over and over: “This will be my final push.”

The woman inhaled. Her face, full of sweat that captured strands of her hair. The man on her side intertwined her hand with his, as if it was glued together. He had no plans on letting her go.

The midwife started counting from one to three multiple times. The woman’s face showed multiple folds as she groaned. Her veins were almost bulging out of her neck.

One…

Two…

…Three!

…and that was it.

The final count.

The baby was out.

But as dark as the vast sky was the baby's vision.

"No heartbeat!" the midwife announced to the man. His blood turned ice cold. Something was wrong with their baby.

Every second counted.

His mind flew from all the possibilities that could happen. The man with bloodshot and unfocused eyes fell to his knees. The baby, already purplish when she came out, and his beloved, who passed through the gates of heaven and hell. His wife, his newborn child–both were struggling to live. He cried. He pleaded for the second time.

The midwife held the baby by the feet and turned her upside down. Her hand gently slapped the baby’s behind from time to time. The sound of the midwife's hand striking the baby's bottom echoed in their ears. Yet, the newborn seemed lifeless. The man’s puffy eyes shed even more tears.

Their supposed-to-be youngest daughter, the one the woman has been carrying for the past nine months, had no signs of life. It was hopeless.

As they were about to accept the bitterness of reality, an infant’s cry replaced the sadness in the room with a sigh of relief.

The baby was alive.

That night was recorded in their minds. A moment that will remain unforgettable for the both of them.

The girl was ten when her mother told her what happened that night. “Naglisod ko ug pagawas sa imoha kay pirti nimong dakoa,” the mother laughed.

(I had a hard time getting you out because you were so big.)

She told her that the girl weighed over four kilograms, 4082 grams to be exact. The girl’s older sisters weighed only two kilograms when they were born.

The door creaked open, a man’s figure came in slowly. He placed his bag on the side with a smile on his face. "Ma! Papa is here!" The girl exclaimed before she ran towards her father. She took his hand and placed it on her forehead.

The little girl has a soft spot for her Papa. The first man who cried for her. The first man who begged the entire heaven to wake his little one up. The very first man to ever love her truly.

She then watched her Mama. The first woman to put herself in the most dangerous circumstance to be able to deliver her. The girl deeply loves her mother, her hero.

And the little girl, the baby who turned purplish that night. The baby who saw nothing but the darkness in the first minutes of her life, it was Strella.

It was me.

I almost died.

In the past seventeen years of my life, people say that I am a miracle baby. Even my dear parents tell me that. But for me, for the little girl who almost did not survive, the true miracle was not how I was able to breakfree from the darkness I was in a few minutes after I was born. It was how my father trembled upon his knees–begging for me and for my mother to be fine. It was how my mom managed to bring me out into this world.

My parents are my miracle.

Strella’s beloved.

Strella Germino wrote this piece in partial fulfillment of the 2025 Pathways Creative Nonfiction class assignment taught by Mikael Borres.

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