On December 24, 1990, I went in for a routine prenatal exam at a clinic attached to our local maternity hospital. Given the volume of births in that part of the world at the time, pregnant women were put on a “team” for prenatal care and were run in and out of these checkups at warp speed.
I was eight and a half months pregnant, and the obstetrician was concerned when I mentioned there seemed to be a steady decline in fetal activity in recent months. Being that this was my first child, I had thought this was normal as the delivery date approached.
After examining me, the obstetrician told me I had 15 minutes to go home and pack my bags to return to the hospital for the baby’s delivery. I contacted my husband, and he left work immediately and met me at our flat.
