Echoes of a Dream:

One day I woke up from a dream feeling all tangled up inside. I turned to my husband and said, "Bae, I had a dream I was pregnant, and I didn't know if I should be happy or sad." Maybe I expected him to decode my dream or share in the confusion, but he didn't say much. It just hung there between us, an unfinished conversation, like a book left open to a page that mattered.

Two days later, my head was pounding, and my stomach twisted in knots, while my monthly cycle hadn't shown up on schedule. I decided it was time to get checked out and found myself in the emergency room. I remember the sterile smell, the bustling sounds of urgency, and the too-bright lights overhead as I told the doctor about my headache and mild stomach pain.

When she returned after some tests, the doctor said I was pregnant. But her face - so serious - told me this wasn't a time for celebration yet. She gently pressed near my ovaries and asked if it hurt. "Just a bit of pressure," I admitted. Her words - "It may be an ectopic pregnancy" - dropped into my world like a stone in still water. Refusing to accept it, I declared, "Oh no, the devil is a liar; I don't receive that."

The ultrasound room felt cold, the machine beside me like some silent judge. As the technician scanned, her focus never leaving the screen, I got the sinking feeling that something wasn't right. "Is everything okay?" I asked, my voice hardly above a whisper. She mentioned something about my lining being thick, making zero sense to me. When I challenged her logic, there was only a confusing silence, no answers.

Not long after, the conversation I'd been dreading came. The doctor, her face a mask of professionalism, delivered the words I had been fearing: "It's an ectopic pregnancy." Tears blinded me, and I couldn't hold back the sob that escaped my throat. The doctor, standing just a breath away, offered no comfort - just a clinical response to my heartache.

She suggested a shot to halt the growth, warning me of the risks of not taking it. It was such a rush, her pushing me towards a quick solution without the certainty I needed. But there, amidst the weeping, strength surged within me. "I want to see what you're looking at," I demanded.

She showed me the images, one with a circle near my ovary, saying, "That's not supposed to be there." But something within me stirred - a fierce need to protect my unborn child. I told my husband, "We're getting a second opinion."

At the next hospital, I repeated my symptoms, and they conducted their tests. It was like déjà vu. But this time, as we waited, my husband reminded me of my dream. The memory was crystal clear, a premonition or a warning? Then came the new diagnosis: they couldn't see anything yet, but there was no cause for alarm - it was normal this early.

Two days later, my HCG levels had soared. The doctors remained unfazed, and I was instructed to return in a week and a half. When I did, they found a yolk sac, nestled safely where it should be, inside my uterus.

It was joy laced with anger. How could the first doctor have gotten it so wrong? I was relieved yet furious that she hadn't taken the time to be sure before nearly ending a life.

Weeks went by, and at my first maternity appointment, anxiety bubbled inside me as I inquired about my ovaries. "Oh, that was just a cyst," the new technician explained, "completely normal." It had resolved on its own, as they often do.

Despite the good news, the seed of distrust had sprouted. What if someone else had been in my shoes and hadn't questioned? I learned to advocate fiercely for myself and my child, armed with research and a flood of questions. I wouldn't let my guard down again. But through it all, my dream lingered - a beacon that had prepared me for the storm and guided me through.

The rest of my pregnancy was a blessing cradled in the capable hands of a reputable OBGYN. I planned for the day I would meet my child, and when it came, I was ready. The moment I held my newborn son - 6 pounds, 14 ounces of miracle - I knew. God had been with us all along, His grace woven through every doubt and fear.

This journey taught me more than I could have imagined. It taught me to listen, not just to what was spoken, but to the quiet voice within. It taught me that wisdom can come from the most unexpected places, even a dream.

I had my beautiful bundle of joy- My (Sonshine) Amariah Staley on 4/11/2024.

As the sun sets on this chapter of my life, I reflect on the incredible journey that started with a single dream - a dream that stood as a silent guardian over the fate of my son.

Our story isn't just a sequence of events; it's a testimony to the power of maternal instinct and the strength of a mother's love. As you tuck away this tale, I invite you to listen to the quiet whispers of your own heart and never underestimate the force of your inner voice.

If my story has moved you, touched a chord, or ignited a spark of recognition within you, I'd be honored to hear your thoughts.

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