A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.
~Agatha Christie

I stared at the pregnancy test, willing the lines to appear. Then I saw the faint pink squiggles morph into two deeper pink lines. “Oh, my goodness! I’m pregnant!” I screeched to my husband who was waiting outside the bathroom.

We hugged each other while crying happy tears. Our eighteen-month-old daughter, Abby, was going to be a big sister!

Imagining another picture-perfect pregnancy, I started a baby registry and scanned the Internet every evening until I had my top three choices for boy and girl names. Then, at the seven-week mark, I began experiencing painful cramps, strong pelvic pressure and heavy bleeding. After rushing over to my OB’s office, I lay on the exam table with an ultrasound wand over my stomach. The exam room was silent as my doctor stared at the pulsating screen.

“Look at this, Crystal — there are two heartbeats. You’re having twins!”

“I can’t believe there are two little humans in here,” I said, smiling as I rubbed my stomach.

The ultrasound also revealed a blood clot, which was the cause of the cramping and bleeding. The doctor placed me on bed rest for a month, hoping that the blood clot would re-absorb into my body. I sucked on ginger-flavored lollipops to help soothe my nausea and snacked on Saltine crackers while binge-watching episodes of Game of Thrones. Now I could relax and enjoy the rest of the pregnancy — or so I thought.

But at twenty-two weeks, my doctor made a shocking discovery during a routine ultrasound.

“There’s an abnormal amount of amniotic fluid surrounding the babies. You have a disease called twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome. It’s a serious condition.”

He explained that our twin girls shared a placenta, which meant that one baby was pumping blood disproportionately to the other baby. While one baby was receiving too many nutrients, the other was being starved.

An army of maternal fetal specialists advised us that our only hope for both babies’ survival was for me to undergo a risky laser ablation surgery. The procedure required inserting a laser into my uterus to sever all the connecting blood vessels so the placenta would be separated. Since the disease had weakened them, we didn’t know if both babies would survive the surgery. I swallowed my doubts, opened my heart, said a prayer and poured my faith into advanced medical technology and the incredible team of nurses and surgeons.

It worked. The surgery was a success, and both babies survived. Yet I couldn’t shake a premonition that there was another roadblock coming on my pregnancy path. I tried to ignore that feeling and envisioned myself sitting at home in my rocking chair with my babies.

A week later, we learned that the procedure had created a small hole in the inter-twin membrane. One of the babies tore the hole, joining her sister in the same amniotic sac, which was dangerous because they wouldn’t have enough room to grow without entangling themselves.

Each night, I knelt underneath the nursery window, clutching a pink baby blanket, and begged for my solemn request to be fulfilled. “Lord, you have been by our side this whole time. Please continue to guide us through this time of uncertainty. Help my precious babies,” I pleaded.

My doctor admitted me to the hospital for bed rest and around-the-clock monitoring until my due date. Five uneventful weeks passed, and I was beginning to doubt my premonition. We had already battled major medical mishaps. What else could possibly happen? Then I woke up one morning with my sheets drenched in sweat, a clawing in the pit of my stomach, and the overpowering feeling that something was wrong. I was certain that my babies were in mortal danger.

I banged repeatedly on the red call button until my nurse flew into the room.

“There’s something wrong with my babies!”

“How do you know?” she asked, looking confused.

“I’m the mother. I just know! Please listen to me,” I pleaded.

Soon, I was entangled in wires and cords attached to monitors. I was having full-blown contractions although I was only thirty weeks along. I welcomed the pain, convinced that I needed to get the babies out of my body that moment.

“What is taking the doctor so long to get here?” I demanded. The nurse scurried to find the doctor. When he finally arrived, he put me on magnesium to try and stop the labor. Sensing there was still a problem, I fought him with every fiber of my being.

“No, we need to deliver the babies today,” I cried. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“But the babies are only thirty weeks, and everything looks fine according to the monitor,” my doctor said, patting my shoulder reassuringly.

“I don’t care what that machine says. I’m telling you something is wrong!” I yelled. By now, the nurses walking by in the hallway had gathered around me, consternation on their faces.

“I know the babies will have a longer NICU time, but I need to see them and know that they are okay…. That’s what I want. That’s what you have to do.”

He stared at the sheet of white paper with zigzag lines coming out of the monitor.

“Okay,” he nodded. “You win, Duffy.”

I prayed fervently for my unborn babies as I was wheeled through the corridors to the operating room. Once there, the bright lights, scrubbed and masked doctors and nurses calmed me. I didn’t know what the outcome would be, but my prayers and my feeling that I was dealing with a greater power gave me faith that my instincts were correct.

As soon as the C-section began, the doctors saw that my placenta had abrupted. I was bleeding heavily internally. The premonition that kept gnawing at me was a warning that my babies and I were in grave danger.

It took a team of talented surgeons and nurses to save my baby girls and me.

If I hadn’t trusted my intuition, there would have been a very different outcome.

Katherine Maria and Lauren Elizabeth weighed three pounds when they were born and spent thirty-eight days in the NICU. Today, at five years old, they are happy, healthy, and energetic girls who love building sandcastles on the beach, taking their dog on walks to the park, and playing dress-up with their older sister.

Does maternal instinct trump medical science? Does the power of prayer work? The mystery in life is great. All I know is that I asked for a miracle in my time of need, and I received one.

— Crystal Duffy —