No human is perfect but, with few exceptions, each one is born with the gift of a mother’s perfect, unconditional love.

I COULD never understand before the parents who decide to have a child already diagnosed with Down Syndrome or other defects while still in the mother’s womb.

I especially couldn’t understand how a victim of rape would want to keep her baby, and how parents with physically and mentally challenged children fuss over them with such love and compassion.

With modern technology, defects can be detected in unborn foetuses so why would anyone bother to give birth to an imperfect child?

It wasn’t until God blessed my husband and me with a little one in my womb that I could comprehend the bond between a mother and her unborn child.

By the end of the first trimester, I had undergone so many tests, including screening for Down Syndrome and other defects. As my doctor announced the good news, I was relieved.

Yet, would it really have made a difference if the results had been otherwise? Would I really have terminated the pregnancy just because the child would have been different?

After seeing him via ultrasound, with all his wriggly toes and fingers, would I really want to abort him just because some test results told me he would not be normal?

Not long after that, I had a chance to experience the fear and anguish from the prospect of losing him.

In my 23rd week, shortly after hubby and I enjoyed a short “baby-moon” in Singapore, I noticed some blood stains one Tuesday night but ignored it as it stopped the following day.

I went to work as usual the next two days. I had a fantastic work-out at my step aerobics class on Thursday evening, and then noticed blood clots that night. I was worried but convinced myself that it was just my panicky self overreacting so I slept on it.

The next morning I went to see my doctor. He did an ultrasound and confirmed that baby was fine, facial features already formed. Yup, definitely the father’s nose.

Then he checked me physically and horror flashed across his eyes.

“Girl, you are dilating!”

My doctor’s countenance said it all €“ something was wrong.

I was diagnosed with cervical incompetence. My cervix was dilating prematurely. I was already in labour. Had I came in later, I might have lost the baby.

He needed to perform a cerclage, a cervical stitch right away. If we were to wait until the following Monday, we wouldn’t know what might happen during the weekend.

But there was a risk of losing the baby. During the operation, even after surgery, the procedure might irritate the womb and there might be contractions anyway. And, at just 23 weeks, the baby was not viable.

I was just looking at baby’s face a few minutes ago! I was terrified, not of the operation but of losing the baby.

I called my husband. Our doctor explained everything to him. After the longest 30 minute deliberation, hubby and I decided that the operation had to be done that day.

When we told our doctor of our decision. I remember telling him over and over again to take care of the baby.

Over the next few hours, hubby made numerous phone calls to friends and family.

A lot went through my mind. It was my fault, all my step aerobics classes, my strength training and body combat classes.

I had been warned many times by my doctor and my in-laws, my family, even hubby but I had chosen to worry more about how I would look after pregnancy than my baby’s well-being.

Yes, it was nice having people commenting on how toned and good I looked at 6 months but what’s the point if I were to lose baby?

And then it was time for me to go into the surgery room. It was cold. I was shivering. I was given a spinal anaesthetic that paralysed me from the waist down for two hours. In the operating theatre, I didn’t know where my legs were. I could hear my doctor giving instructions to his nurses, and the sound of scissors snipping away. It must have been the longest 20 minutes of my life.

When it was all over, I was still shivering, probably from the cold of the operating theatre, or maybe it was from fear.

The first thing I asked doctor was whether baby was all right. The news was good €“ baby’s heartbeat was normal, no contractions.

As I was wheeled out of the OT, I saw my husband. He had stayed outside all along, with no lunch yet. He was obviously worried as well, but him being him he wasn’t about to show any emotions. But he was with me the whole time.

My in-laws had been lighting candles and saying prayers and so was I. Never had I been so “prayerful” in my entire life.

I was soon discharged. I have to go back for weekly check-ups, and I was put on strict bed rest over the next few weeks.

I encountered many sleepless nights as I didn’t know how contractions would feel like. I worried about the stitch tearing, about my waterbag leaking.

At the same time, it was difficult to stay in bed all day, and I was not supposed to step out of the house.

I’ve always been a hyperactive person. If I wasn’t at the gym, I would be singing in the choir, or I would be cleaning the house and preparing baby’s nursery, or shopping for baby’s stuff. Unable to do all these, I spent a lot time crying instead.

I am hitting 30 weeks now, but I have been advised not to go back to work until baby is delivered. It hasn’t been easy as I miss work, I miss human interaction, and I definitely miss my daily activities.

But perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Now, I know what mother’s love is.

Today, I cannot understand those mothers who dump their babies. Or those unmarried (and married) mothers who carelessly get themselves pregnant and then terminate their healthy pregnancies, time and again. I definitely cannot understand mothers who abuse their own children.

For me, a mother’s love for her unborn child is so sacred and pure that it transcends all things, seen and unseen.

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