I, Grace Reid, gave birth twenty days before my due date.
After being wheeled into the operating room for two hours, I delivered a lifeless fetus.
I didn't cry, didn't make a scene, didn't even glance at the tiny corpse.
Enduring the pain from my wounds, I calmly walked into the nursery, locked the door tight, and turned down the temperature.
In one more hour, the nursery would become too cold for any newborn to survive.
All the doctors and parents stood outside the nursery door, begging me to spare their children's lives.
They shouted with all their strength, saying I was a mother too and hoping I could understand their feelings.
But I just smiled. "I am indeed a mother, but the child I just delivered is dead."
An obstetrician cried at the door, pleading with me, "We may be responsible for not saving your child. But these newborns are innocent.
Please don't become extreme because you lost your baby. You're still so young—you can have other children."
I gritted my teeth and roared at her, "But my child isn't dead at all!
She's still alive. I'm giving you one hour to bring her to me."
Because I wasn't sure if my child would still be alive after one hour.
