The Village That Saved Me: A Mother’s Story of Struggle and Survival
In a world where too many women face pregnancy alone, one mother’s story shows how a village of care can turn heartbreak into hope. A journey of struggle, survival, and the power of support.
Whenever I think back on my pregnancy journey, it feels like it all happened just yesterday.
After eight long years of struggle, prayers, and waiting, I finally conceived—with twins. The joy I felt was beyond words. It was a moment I had dreamed of for so long, and to have it happen in double felt like a miracle.
However, the journey to get to the miracle and indeed the journey forward as well, was filled with unexpected twists, heart-wrenching turns, and moments that changed me forever.
Waiting For The Miracle
What most people don’t realize is how complicated the journey to conception really is.
I lost count of how many times people casually advised me to “just relax” or “just try” as if it were as simple as flipping a switch. In reality, every month was a cycle of hope and heartbreak. Every failed attempt felt like another door slammed shut. Infertility—or even the uncertainty of not knowing if and when you will conceive—chips away at your confidence, your relationships, and sometimes even your sense of self. For years, I lived in that cycle. Some days I thought about giving up entirely, but something deep inside me pushed me forward.
Through it all, my husband was my rock. When I broke down after yet another disappointment, he didn’t just offer words of comfort—he carried the weight with me. He never let me feel it was “my” struggle alone—it was our journey. Once, at a point when I felt I had nothing left to give, he quietly said, “Then we pause. We rest. We’ll try again when you’re ready.” That patience, that partnership, became the lifeline I held onto.
I knew the value of his support because I knew that most women in India don’t get that. Too often, the pressure falls only on them, leaving them to face the pain in silence.
Joy And Heartbreak
But just sixty days into my pregnancy, I faced the most devastating moment of my life so far—I lost one of my twins.
The grief was indescribable, yet I had no choice but to gather every ounce of strength I had—for the sake of the other baby growing inside me. Accepting that loss while continuing the pregnancy required resilience I didn’t know I possessed.
Things began to stabilize, but at twenty four weeks, I faced another frightening complication—my birth canal began to widen before time, which increased the risk of a miscarriage.. I had to undergo a cervical cerclage procedure, where a stitch was made in my birth canal to hold it shut. My doctors also advised me complete bed rest to ensure that my baby would be okay.
While complete bed rest sounds simple and easy to do, it was extremely exhausting - both mentally and physically.Staying confined to a bed for weeks felt like a punishment. My legs would cramp constantly, and sleep was fleeting. Through all this, my mother and my husband were my anchors, by my side day and night, doing everything they could to ease my discomfort and fear.
As I began adjusting to the routine of bed rest, we planned a small, intimate baby shower. It was during the COVID-19 pandemic, so we kept it low-key, and I couldn’t sit for long. My mom, sisters, and brothers-in-law went above and beyond to create a special day. The house was ready, family had gathered, and excitement was in the air.
That’s when I started feeling unwell—blurry vision, swollen eyes, and reduced urine output. I tried to push through just one more day, hoping I could enjoy the shower. But by afternoon, my condition worsened, and we rushed to the hospital. My blood pressure was dangerously high—180/100. I was immediately admitted to the ICU and diagnosed with Preeclampsia - a condition which is life threatening, both to me and my baby.
I hadn’t realized how serious this condition could be. I was devastated—not just for myself, but for missing the baby shower my family had worked so hard to plan. The hospital staff started steroid injections to accelerate my baby’s lung development and administered countless other medications to delay labor. The whole night was a blur of injections, nurses, and whispered conversations I could barely comprehend. I sensed things were going downhill.
By morning, the situation had become critical—my kidneys began to fail, and my liver functions were deteriorating. That’s when the doctors told me the unthinkable: they needed to deliver my baby immediately if both of us were to survive. I was only twenty-nine weeks pregnant.
My heart shattered.
After eight long years of longing, I found myself on a stretcher, signing a consent form with blurred vision and tears streaming down my face. I didn’t care about the pain or surgery—I just wanted my baby to survive.
In the operating room, I heard my doctor say, “It’s a baby boy, Ranganayaki,” but I didn’t hear a cry. That silence crushed me. Overwhelmed and exhausted, I fainted.
When I regained consciousness, I was being sutured. My first thought: Where is my baby? But I wasn’t allowed to see him. I was alone in the ICU, consumed with fear. That’s when my baby’s pediatrician, Dr. Saranya, walked in like an angel and gently said, “There will be complications, but we will save him.” I broke down, but for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope.
My husband came to see me and showed me our baby's photo. I was happy, but also a little upset—he had seen our baby before I had. That night was the longest of my life.
I begged the doctors to remove my catheter so I could visit the NICU. They reluctantly agreed. After freshening up, I finally walked in.
That moment—the one I had waited eight long years for—was nothing like I had imagined. Instead of joy, my chest ached. My tiny baby, weighing just 1.3 kg, was lying there covered in tubes and wires. We named him Sai Venkat, right there in the NICU. He was my warrior prince, fighting from the womb to be with us.
Fighting For Survival
It was a long two-month stay in the NICU, filled with ups and downs. He battled feeding intolerance, heart issues, acid reflux, and other complications. I spent hours crying, praying to God to keep him alive. Watching him struggle every day was like being stabbed in the heart repeatedly. I slipped into depression. I lashed out at the nurses, my mother, and my husband—no one could calm the storm inside me.
From the very first day, it was a fight for survival. He was intubated for the first 24 hours, and when the doctors tried moving him to CPAP the next day, his tiny lungs couldn’t cope. He struggled for every breath until they shifted him back to a non-invasive ventilator, where he remained for nearly three weeks.
Just as we thought he was stabilizing, he was diagnosed with PDA (Patent Ductus Arteriosus)—a heart condition that many premature babies face. We prayed the medications would work, but his body didn’t respond as expected. Each test report felt like a verdict, and every failed attempt drained us a little more.
Then came one of the scariest days of all—he developed NEC (Necrotizing Enterocolitis), a dangerous intestinal condition common in premature babies. Around the same time, his little body couldn’t tolerate breast milk. The doctors had to hook him up to IV nutrition for survival. I knew it was what he needed, but watching my tiny baby covered in needles and injections broke me in ways I can never forget. The sight of his fragile body surrounded by tubes will stay etched in my heart forever.
I couldn't even hold my son. I had to pump breastmilk every two hours while he was tube-fed. I hardly slept, and neither did my husband. I owe him everything—he was going through the same pain but had to stay strong for both of us. He carried me through those dark days.
He didn’t just offer comforting words—he stepped in completely. He bathed me when I couldn’t move, fed me when I had no strength, cleaned and sterilized the breast pump countless times, and stayed awake through the nights just to make sure I was never left alone.
Because of COVID restrictions, only one attendant was allowed in the hospital. My mother wanted to be with me, but my husband was firm—he didn’t want me or my mother to shoulder this burden alone. He took it upon himself to be there for every moment, every struggle, every setback.
Finding Light In The Darkness
Eventually, the day we were waiting for came: discharge. But instead of feeling relief, we felt terrified. No doctors, no monitors, just us. I was on a strict no-milk, low-protein diet because Sai Venkat was exclusively breastfed and allergic to milk protein.
That first night home, my postpartum depression reached new heights. I couldn’t sleep, and by morning, my milk supply dropped. Anxious, I rushed to the hospital, where they assured me it was stress-related and told me to rest. Miraculously, my supply bounced back soon after.
But the next hurdle came quickly—Sai Venkat refused to breastfeed and would only take milk from a spoon. Spoon-feeding aggravated his reflux, and my anxiety shot up. He cried all night. I couldn't calm him. Helpless and sleep-deprived, I became irritable, snapping at my mother, my husband—and, shamefully, even at my baby. I slept barely 2 to 3 hours a day.
At my next pediatric check-up, the doctor recognized the signs and admitted me, not the baby. Those three days were the darkest of my life. I broke down and told the doctor to switch him to formula. I couldn’t understand why I was so obsessed with breastfeeding. I should’ve been happy to have him alive. But I now realize how powerful—and fragile—the human mind can be.
With therapy, rest, and small outings, things slowly began to change. And then—like magic—Sai Venkat started breastfeeding without fuss. That’s when I realized: it wasn’t about milk supply or my baby’s preference—it was about my anxiety, and the pressure I had put on myself.
But deep down, I also finally understood why I had been so desperate to breastfeed him directly. It wasn’t just an obsession. It was my instinct as a mother. Within 1 month of exclusive breastfeeding, Sai Venkat’s weight had already caught up with full-term babies. My heart had known he was ready before my mind did. Sometimes, the world may not understand—but a mother’s instinct is rarely wrong.
We returned home, and finally, life began to feel normal. We found our rhythm.
The Village That Heals
It wasn’t the fairy tale I had imagined - but it was our story. A story of resilience, love, vulnerability, and an unwavering fight. A story that I hope will inspire others who are walking a similar path to know that they are not alone.
This is where I realized something profound: it truly takes a village to carry a woman through pregnancy and beyond. My doctors - Dr Ramya and Dr Saranya, gave me not just medical care, but emotional reassurance at every stage. My husband became my nurse, my cheerleader, and my steady hand. My mother shouldered everything at home, making sure I never felt like a burden. Even my sisters and brothers-in-law stepped in—planning small joys during the pandemic, creating moments of light in the darkness.
Sadly, many women don’t get this kind of support. Too often, healthcare systems dismiss women’s pain. Families sometimes place blame instead of offering comfort. Partners may distance themselves out of fear or denial. But in my case, each member of my circle did the opposite—they leaned in when things got hard. That made all the difference between breaking down completely and finding the strength to carry on.
This was a village that healed, not harmed—a stark contrast to the experiences of so many women who are left alone, pressured into silence, or failed by the very systems meant to protect them.
Becoming The Village For Others
Through this journey, I discovered an inner strength and compassion I never knew I had. It led me to become a support for other mothers facing similar struggles—because no one should go through this alone.
That’s when Doctornet India welcomed me with open arms, allowing me to be part of a community that uplifts, informs, and empowers the underprivileged.
DoctorNet India is a non-profit organization making healthcare accessible to disadvantaged people in Tamil Nadu by bridging the information and empathy gaps. DoctorNet volunteers, with the doctors, psychologists, and grassroots organizations, provide facilitation, empathetic guidance, and emotional support for the disadvantaged people, both for pregnancies but also for other general medical care.
Whenever any pregnant woman seeks care and support from DoctorNet, I take the lead in assisting them. My journey with pregnancy has given me the much-needed context to engage with these women sensitively.
In doing so, I ensure that DoctorNet becomes the “village” that many women sorely lack during their difficult pregnancies, something that resonated closely with me, given my story. Today, I share this story to cement the importance of social support to women as they go through their pregnancies, be it complicated or not. Women are not meant to go through it alone, and it’s high time Indian women received the support they deserve.
