After the doctor and my father's persuasion, my mother gave up the decision to have an immediate cesarean section. She was so nervous that she checked the fetal heart rate monitor every hour to make sure it was within normal limits.
This significantly delayed my death. I tried to strangle myself with the umbilical cord, but the machine next to me started blaring warnings.
"Fetal heart rate is dropping, fetal oxygen deprivation, prepare for surgery."
Frightened, I quickly untied the cord. As long as the mother was weak, the baby could not be saved.
I endured it, staying awake during the day and spending the night spinning and dancing in my mother's womb. Every time I felt I was doomed, my mother would ask the doctor to give me an injection. Even with such a thick needle, my mother didn't even blink.
The drugs kept me teetering on the brink of death. Sometimes, she would look at me as if I were her lovely son, but she would quickly regain consciousness.
"Even if it was just hormones, I still love Bianca more. Bianca is my child."
Under all this high-tech technology, I finally stayed safely inside her belly. As the seventh month approached, Mom's face lit up with smiles.