A miracle story of healing, hope, and fortitude

By Maria Solita Zaldivar-Guzman

In 2023, I thought I would die, and we almost lost our fourth baby, Sarri.

Every so often, the course of our life takes an unexpected turn whether we are ready or not. It does not ask for our consent. We can only pray that it is for the best and if not, that we have the courage to face it, the wisdom to understand it, the strength to endure it, and the hope to surpass it.

It was an ordinary Wednesday morning that started with a monotonous routine of waking the children up for school at five-thirty. When I got up from bed, I immediately felt water trickling down my legs so I rushed to the bathroom downstairs. Fear and worry began to consume me but I tried to relax because overthinking was my greatest adversary.

I contacted my OB-Gyne Doc Karen Icamina and she instructed me to lie down and inform her immediately should the same happen again. The next thing I knew, after conducting an ultrasound, my doctor advised me to travel to Iloilo City. Amid my paranoia, she comforted me by saying that unfortunate things happen for a reason; that it was not my fault, and that we must do whatever we can to save me and our baby.

Through the collective help of doctor friends—Doc Regina Buenaflor, Doc Gina Dionio, and Doc Marsha Morato—and my aunt Doc Claire Perez, my admission was arranged. I bid goodbye to our kids, fully aware that from that moment, things would be different and there would be nostalgic days ahead.

It was already dark when we made our way to Iloilo Doctors’ Hospital. Matt, my husband, was driving and despite trying to have a normal conversation, I knew we were both anxious about what was waiting for us. It felt like a death sentence. In my mind, if asked who to choose between me and our baby, I would tell him to choose Sarri.

It was obvious that a similar thought hung heavily on his shoulders. Although he denied acknowledging it, it translated to his uneasy manner of driving. It was the first time in our lives that we both felt very scared and the darkness outside all the more felt sinister. I could only contemplate whether I could see our baby alive or whether I would wake up the next morning.

The worst did not happen thanks to my new OB-Gyne Doc Donna Alindong and the resident doctors at IDH. After completing the protocol in the triage area and undergoing tests, I was admitted to a private room in an attempt to prolong labor. It lasted for five days, administering ample doses of steroids to hasten our baby’s growth. Doc Donna was very motherly and hands-on, even in the wee hours, she went to the hospital when I felt contractions. She even held my hand the whole time when I was given epidural anesthesia.

On September 11, 2023, I gave birth to a 1.11kg premature baby girl named Maria Shacarri Zaldivar Guzman, or Sarri—our miracle baby.

It was not the conventional giving of birth that encapsulated bliss and delight, accompanied by flowers, balloons, congratulatory cards, and cakes. I was unprepared because, at six months, I had not yet bought the usual newborn stuff. Matt was only able to finalize her name a few days before the whole enchilada. It felt rather hilarious that as I was busy planning for a baby shower and a maternity shoot, I ended up panic buying and even asking for baby necessities from friends.

As soon as Sarri was out via Caesarean operation, I heard her cry twice and although I was initially told she would be intubated, I prayed otherwise. When I woke up, I was in pain. I had a hysterectomy procedure—my uterus and right ovary were removed—and my gall bladder was torn and had to be stitched. I had three red blood cell transfusions and it was not until I was given morphine the following day that the unbearable pain came to an end.

It was Matt who took care of me just like he always did whenever I gave birth. He would do the things I could not do by myself. And not once did he blame me even though I kept impugning that I might have been too carefree with my pregnancy. I pitied him for the sacrifices he had to make but he would constantly assure me of his love for me and our children and that he would always do what ought to be done for our well-being.

What hurt most was not being able to see Sarri for four days after giving birth to her because I needed to recuperate from the operation. It was only when we asked for a special baptism for her that we were allowed to go inside the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and touch her for the first time. I could not vividly recall that moment perchance as it felt surreal. I was frightened that I might hurt her fragile body as I touched her right hand and foot. She was in an incubator, intubated, and with so many apparatus surrounding her that it took the life out of me. The sight was antagonizing, and the notion that I was okay and she was not asphyxiated me. But I told myself that to feel weak was a disservice to my daughter who was fighting for her life every second, notwithstanding the pain and discomfort that unfortunately welcomed her the moment she was born. Resolutely, I had to endure the yearning of a mother for her daughter.

Ironically speaking, it felt like she intentionally chose that to happen to ensure my safety, and holding on to that thought tormented me. The hysterectomy was meant to happen and the accreta might be riskier under other circumstances. While I never expected that I would give birth at six months, everyone kept telling me that it was a miracle that Sarri and I were both alive. While I am happy that my transient life in this world was not cut short, I was engulfed in guilt that I always seemed to have newborns with complications. Our eldest Markief has jaundice, the second Schiavie has pneumonia, and our youngest Sarri a preemie. It was only during the time of the pandemic that our third Brie was born a healthy baby.

While I would like to believe that everything happens for a reason and God’s greater purpose is always revealed after transcending an ordeal, it was not easy to comprehend as I was struggling. I would be a hypocrite to say that my fate never once faltered; it did occasionally waver but whenever I thought about getting angry or disheartened, eventually I would turn to God in prayer. I know we are mere custodians in this world inhabited by sentient beings and temporal things and every day is a test of faith and devotion to God amid difficulty and misery. It was just that I hoped my children would have been spared, young as they were. However, these notions remain as they are because what it all comes down to, is God will not give us something we are incapable of triumphing.

On November 17, after 68 days, her oxygen was finally removed and surprisingly I was allowed to have cuddle time with her. I did not expect that I would be given that chance and it felt like manna from heaven, as though God’s hands were on my shoulders. As she was handed to me, I was both excited and scared to touch her because she was so tiny, wrapped in a pink blanket. I touched her hand, and her fingers grabbed onto my “mommy” finger, gripping it tight. At that moment I knew, she had been waiting for me and all her struggles were not futile because she finally got to be with her mother.

It took exactly 76 days until Sarri was cleared from all her tests, including undergoing a modern eye procedure called anti-VEGF, and she was finally discharged. I never went home to our province in Aklan since I got hospitalized because I made a promise that we would go home together. My choice to stay in Iloilo City was a silent assurance that she was not left behind and even in our lonesome moments whilst separated, we shared it.

It was tough missing out on our other kids and being in absentia, unable to give them the care that they need from a mother. It was challenging to be left alone and sleeping by myself when Matt had to go home. I had to do errands such as commuting in a city new to me (and getting lost several times), going to the Red Cross office to get blood for Sarri’s transfusion, and looking elsewhere for medical supplies and prescriptions unavailable in pharmacies within the hospital vicinity.

But God always made sure that I felt His provision by giving me a place to stay with warm-hearted people, providing financial support for our expenses, and sending help whenever I felt like the burden was too heavy to carry. It was His guidance that ensured Sarri was under the care of passionate healthcare professionals who assured her recovery. Her neonatal specialist Doc Patrizia Nafarrete who is the best at what she does, always reminded me to pray to God as she was simply an instrument of Sarri’s healing but that it is God who makes all things possible. I will always feel indebted to her for saving Sarri’s life and how she is not only a doctor but a friend to me, making sure she responded to all my queries and made time to see me whenever I felt extremely anxious.

During that period, a lot of milestones have happened such as the third birthday of our dearest Brie which we celebrated in Iloilo City. I only got to see the kids once a month, except for Schiavie who stayed with me for two weeks. I kept contemplating about Sarri, especially in the wee mornings, and whenever it rained. Every day, I would visit her, stay as close as I could be to a viewing window, and play Hillsong Worship songs. I would reminisce about being pregnant with her, engulfed with excitement and countless aspirations for her.

It was God, our family, and our closest friends that sustained us throughout the entire juncture. I cannot quite fathom where we mustered the strength every day, to keep going even though it drained the life out of us on some days. In moments when I complained about how distressingly tired I was, how debilitating every small progress was, and how frustrating each setback was, it was our little fighter Sarri who was my constant redeemer. It was she who struggled to live the moment she was born, who kept going regardless of anything that hindered her physically, and who manifested irrefutable courage and zest which kept us together united in faith as a family.

I always look at our God-sent angel Sarri whenever I cradle her in my arms and I am filled with abundant joy and gratitude for the wonderful gift of her life. I never imagined having a preemie but she is more than just a miracle baby—she is a blessing in all forms, against all odds. She reminds me of Paulo Coelho’s “maktub”, that everything that happens is written; how both dangerous and beautiful our destinies are but we live to thrive nonetheless. Sarri is living proof of great fortitude and the favor of God, having survived a delicate condition through the expertise of both our doctors, the care of her NICU nurses, the prayer of everyone rooting for her recovery, and the all-encompassing love of family.

In retrospect, it was like outshining a poignant battle against life, and Matt and I becoming better individuals of faith, strength, and resilience. It was finding meaning in the most unthinkable and daunting situations in life and understanding that a true and greater purpose is revealed in trials. As it was and always will be, God has plans for us and in His perfect time, we shall rejoice.

Thank you, God, for Sarri’s recovery, and the gift of her, Markief, Schiavie, and Brie.