My mom started praying out of fear for me and my baby, and fear that I would give birth at home. I started to have a contraction every five minutes, and I felt like I was dying over and over again because of the intensity of the airstrikes.
The quadcopters were shooting at the rooftops of people’s homes and the displaced people in the street.
I was in extreme fear. I took my child to the living room and started to get ready to go out to a safer place. We were just waiting for the sunrise the next day.
The next morning, due to the extreme pain I was in, we went to the American field hospital, which is basically just a few tents, but I faced a lot of problems on my way there. It was a very long distance that we walked, and the streets were really crowded. When we got to the hospital, they transferred me to the obstetrics section, and I was starting to dilate. The contractions went on for a whole day, and I stayed in the hospital until I finally delivered my son at around 2 a.m.
His name is Yaman*.
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I gave birth along with three other women in the same space. We did not get any medical care or attention. Me or my baby.