On a blustery day in March of 2018, I walked out of the hospital with my perfect baby girl snuggled against me. Her rosy cheeks aroused a powerful love that I had never known was possible. It was as if I had delivered two people in that hospital—my new baby and the new me.
Becoming a mother taught me how vulnerable I really am. But it also revealed how strong I could be if necessary.
Four weeks later, my little Dalia caught a cold. I immediately took her to the pediatrician, who told me that everything was fine and that I should just keep an eye on her. But as the days passed, Dalia’s cold didn’t get any better. She was coughing throughout the night. I went back to the doctor but was told the same thing; it was only a cold.
A couple of nights later, my husband and I listened to Dalia’s cough get raspier and raspier. We could hear her tiny body fighting for every breath. We called our pediatrician and asked her to listen to Dalia’s breathing over the phone. “There’s nothing I can do at this point,” she said. “You need to go to the emergency room right away.”
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