For five years, my husband Ramana and I clung to the dream of having a child, of holding him or her in our arms. Five years of prayers, sleepless nights, and watching others build the families we longed for. When our twins were born, it felt like all our waiting had finally been rewarded.
But our joy has turned to pain. My baby boy’s life is hanging by a thread. Every day, I wake up gripped by the fear that we might lose him, that our daughter might grow up without ever knowing her brother.
After we discovered I was pregnant with twins, Ramana and I had planned everything meticulously; we dreamed of their names, the games they’d play, and the lives they would lead. But in my seventh month, complications arose. I went into labor early, and our babies were born prematurely, far too fragile for this world. Both were rushed to the NICU immediately, their tiny bodies hooked to machines that we could only pray would save them.
One of our twins, our daughter, made a miraculous recovery and came home with us after a month. But her brother remains in the hospital, fighting for his life. He has severe respiratory distress, a fungal infection, and other complications that need constant medical care.
The joy of bringing our babies into this world has come at a cost we never imagined
Ramana and I have sold everything we could — our small plot of land, my jewelry, even items from our home. We’ve borrowed from relatives and taken loans with high interest, managing to scrape together 12 lakhs so far. But it’s not enough, the hospital bills keep piling up. Ramana runs a small kirana shop in our village, but it barely brings in enough to cover our daily expenses, let alone the crushing medical bills.
Ramana is exhausted, trying to balance everything
He has to earn for our family, arrange money for our son’s treatment, and support me emotionally. I try to stay strong for our daughter, for him, but the weight of our situation feels unbearable. Every rupee we find, every loan we take, only scratches the surface of what is needed to bring our baby boy home. The fear of losing our son, not because of his condition but because we can’t afford to save him, is a pain I cannot describe.
Every milestone our daughter reaches fills us with both joy and sorrow
How do we celebrate my daughter’s first smile when her brother is dying in the hospital? This was supposed to be a shared journey for them, but right now, it feels like an endless divide between hope and heartbreak. I look at her and wonder how I will ever explain it to her if her brother doesn’t come home. How will I tell her that the sibling bond she was meant to cherish is now just a memory of someone she never truly got to know? We’ve waited five long years for these children, and now, we are desperate to see them grow up together—to share their first steps, their first words, their childhood dreams.