Four years ago today, the Saturday before Valentine’s Day, our twin girls were born. Moments of that day have slipped in and out of my mind all week, like a soft and gentle stream, giving life to everything around me. Mostly, I have been warmed by the tender, subtle feeling of being known.
The girls were born two months early, in a sudden rush of events that saved their lives, and mine.
I was feeling fine until early afternoon when the nausea set in. I wretched into the toilet twice, put my 19-month-old down for a nap, then collapsed onto the couch. But even lying down didn’t relieve the debilitating headache I had.
My husband was at Stake Conference, along with most members in our Virginia area. President Packer was the visiting authority. I didn’t want to bother Doug, but I felt awful. So I phoned the doctor with my symptoms. “Maybe stomach flu” he said. “Let’s watch things. Call me in an hour if your symptoms remain the same or get worse.”
Desperate for relief, I phoned my Dad, who is an emergency doctor. I could hear the concern in his voice. “You need to call Doug and get to the hospital quickly.”