A bloody lanyard was the last thing I needed around my neck. I had to cut it off my phone; it felt heavy and nasty. The phone felt heavy; it would swing and bump into things whenever I moved.

The facts surrounding that night’s events were already beginning to blur. I knew that would happen but did not expect it so quickly. I thought the memories from that night would burn in my mind for a long time. I describe it as one of those surreal events you wonder about but don’t want to know about firsthand.

It started out as a routine day. The ladies in the women’s home were attentive and eagerly participated in Bible study; they had done their work assignments without being told and were getting along well. (As well as a house full of women can get along.)

We prayed daily for the women still “out there” who needed our help and that God would guide them to our house. We lived our lives in a state of expectancy, believing things could change at any moment and probably would. This day’s change came at about 9:00 PM. I was tired and ready to go to bed early, but a knock on the door changed my plan.

The mission’s men’s director, accompanied by one of the brothers, brought a woman to our ministry who wanted to apply for admission to the Women’s Life Change Program. She was so weak she could hardly walk. Her lips were pale, and she shook as if she were freezing. I recognized her as a young woman who had come to us a couple of days earlier only to run out after 5 minutes of conversation.

I offered her a seat in our Chapel while I went to my office for an application. I had mixed thoughts as I returned with a pen and admission application. Because she was pregnant, she did not fit our admission criteria, but I was eager to help her get off the streets, especially one so young and hooked on heroin. I hate what heroin does to people’s lives. I hate, hate, hate it!

Now, just two days later, she was back and obviously more than the previously stated” two months “pregnant. That did pose a problem. Maybe she could get family members to keep her baby for her while she finishes the program. I did not know how to help her until our interview was concluded. She appeared very distressed.

I wondered if she should be here now. I offered her the chance to go to the hospital to be looked over. She became very agitated and stated that she was tired and would like a blanket and would feel much better after a few minutes. This behavior was common for most of the people who came to our doors.

So, I left her with the two brothers and returned with a pillow and blanket. She wanted to rest a few minutes before we began the interview, which often ran about 30 minutes. After she assured me that she was feeling better, I thanked the guys for bringing her to us and sent them on their way

As we talked, she remained pale but was no longer shaking. She began to answer some of my questions and appeared more comfortable, wrapped in the huge quilt and resting against the pillow I had brought her from the living room. She was agitated at some of my simple questions and appeared to avoid the most important ones.

After only a few moments, she asked to be shown to the restroom. Wrapped in the quilt, she stepped into the room I indicated and agreed to leave the door open. “In case you need something, “I had said.

She had told me that she was unmarried, had no prenatal care, and that she was on methadone for a heroin addiction. Her family had been supportive and cared for her three boys; the youngest was one year old. I was thinking about all the other young women on heroin that we had either helped or tried to help over the years whose children were scarred, blind, orphaned, or permanently maimed as the result of heroin.

“Are you OK? I asked,” Do you need anything?” No was the reply. I walked to the living room, where the other ladies watched a movie.” Please pray for her; she is not well and really needs to stay. Their faces showed concern. The movie they were watching was turned down, and their attention turned to our potential new sister

Again, I walked to the bathroom door and asked if she was OK or needed anything. Her eyes met mine, and again, she said she was OK. Feeling relieved, I went to my office next door to the bathroom and began to shut my computer down for the day. I was exiting the doorway when her voice pierced my heart as she called, “Miss Tammy!”

I found her still on the toilet, wrapped in the quilt, rocking back and forth and repeating a mantra:” Something fell into the toilet; Something fell into the toilet.” Fear stole over me, but I demanded softly and calmly,” You need to stand and let me see.” She loudly protested when I asked her to move so I could look.” No, no, no, I can’t; something fell out; I know it did. Oh, no, my baby!

I threw the quilt on the floor, my arms now around her midsection. I pulled her up and off the toilet; I then pivoted her to my left and lowered her to the floor. As I turned my attention back to the toilet, her little son lay on his left side in the white blood-filled bowl, body half submerged, face grey and serene. No movement, no breath, no sign of life.

I lifted the slippery, floppy body up and onto my left knee because the placenta-still intact -weighed him down. Instinctively, I gave him two solid Pats on the back. Turning him over, I cleared his mouth with my finger, feeling his gums and tongue. I held him in my left arm and wiped his little face with my right hand. The child’s weight surprised me; It was hard to believe he was real.

My mind screamed, “Cry baby, you need to cry”! I saw blood trickle out of his nose and wondered if I was getting ready to place myself in any danger as some serious viruses are carried in bodily fluids. Lifting his tiny chin, I placed my mouth over his nose and mouth and willed my breath to awaken him.

For the next hour or so, I turned my attention from baby to mother as I massaged mom’s lower abdomen to stop excessive uterine bleeding and continued CPR on the baby. I had called out for help, and one of the other ladies had come into the tiny bathroom to provide a towel to wrap the baby in and then stayed to hold mom’s hand. Others had already dialed 911 and were softly praying outside the door.

I had kept the baby out of mom’s sight to prevent her from panicking. Then she asked: “Is it my baby? Am I bleeding?” I replied, “Yes, your baby is here; I’m trying to help him. How are you doing?” She said, “I think I am OK; I’m shaking; am I going to make it?”

I continued working on her son as I felt a warm anger wave over me. Your baby would not be in this mess if you were not a drug addict, and you have the nerve to think of yourself instead of your baby.” I only thought of saying this. God’s mercy kept my head so that I was kind to her as she lay bleeding on the quilt.

I tried to comfort her, saying, “It is natural to shiver after you have a baby,” Remember the other times with your three boys? “No, I don’t remember, I don’t remember. Oh my baby, oh my baby!” I responded, “Are you with me? Do you feel like you are going to pass out?” “No, she said, I’m just shaking. Please don’t let me die!”

She never tried to get up, turn her head to see her still baby in my arms, or even open her eyes. Her pulse remained steady and strong. However, she remained conscious, alert, and concerned with her well-being.

The rest of the night went fast; emergency personnel came and took over my jobs. They questioned her much like I had attempted to earlier. “What is your full name? How old are you? How many months pregnant are you? Are you a drug user? What drugs do you use? When did you use last? How many pregnancies is this for you? Who is your next of kin?” Her response was the same as it had been the first time I met her–short. impatient answers peppered with heavy sighs and sounds of exasperation and irritation.

The Charge EMT became visibly angry. He said, “You should be charged with murder. You girls like using drugs so much that you are willing to kill your babies. It’s wrong!” By then, she was on the stretcher and turned her head toward the wall, away from his anger. He yelled, “This baby is full term; he could have lived.”

The ladies waited until the ambulance left, and the dead baby was carried out of the house before appearing with gloves, rags, plastic bags, and buckets of bleach water. The odor of blood hung heavily in the air. The scent of death stayed for days.

The following day, I visited her at the hospital, prayed with her, and made sure she did not need anything. She thanked me for” being so kind.” She told me that the hospital volunteers were going to help her bury her son and that she had named him “Emmanuel” (which means in Hebrew, “God with us”). I kissed her on the cheek and left.

She spent two days in the hospital recovering before finally entering the mission’s Life Change program. After spending one night with us, she decided to leave. She said she was “not ready” yet. She wanted to get herself together a little bit first. We all begged her to stay and heal with us. She promised to come back soon. “How do I pray for her now, Father”? She does not have to be all cleaned up before entering the program. All she needs to do is come. Please forgive her, Jesus, for she knows not what she does.