Rebirth of Love: Protect My Children

The sterile lights of the operating room were harsh against my stinging eyelids. A wave of nausea crashed over me, followed by a searing pain that ripped through my lower body. My memory flooded back in a torrent – the agony of childbirth, the pleas for a C-section ignored, the chilling silence as the monitor flatlined. I was dead.

But here I was again, back on the cold metal table, the metallic tang of disinfectant filling my nostrils. Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn't a dream. I was alive. But the reprieve was short-lived.