I was born on a quiet Thursday at exactly 4:30 p.m. in a small hospital room filled with anxious whispers and hurried footsteps. What should have been a moment of pure joy quickly turned into fear. I entered the world with a dangerously high fever, my tiny body burning as doctors and nurses rushed around me. The air felt heavy with worry. My family stood outside, shocked and helpless, praying to the Lord for my survival.
The doctors were uncertain. My condition was critical, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if my life might end before it had truly begun. Tears filled my mother's eyes, and silence spread through the hallway like a shadow.
Then, an aunty stepped forward with courage and faith. She held me close, whispering prayers under her breath. With hope in her heart, she gently breathed into me, refusing to give up. Moments later, something changed. My breathing steadied. The fever slowly began to fade.
That day, my life was not only given — it was saved. And my story had just begun.