Giving it to G-d
“Is everything okay?” I timidly ask in the examination room. I’m anxiously waiting as the doctor
performs the very first ultrasound.
“I hear the heart. It sounds good,” she says and I breathe a sigh of relief knowing all too well
what it feels like when the doctor doesn’t. But that feeling is short-lived.
The doctor turns to me and looks concerned.
“I see a blood clot close to the baby,” she says.
I feel a pit in my stomach. I ask her what this means.
“Well, yours is small,” she says. “I once saw a patient with a huge clot and I thought that her
baby wasn’t going to live. But sure enough, she had a full-term, healthy baby, so anything is
“Great,” I think. The doctor once saw a miracle. “That’s reassuring,” I sarcastically thought.
It doesn’t matter how small the risk is: Whenever I’ve been pregnant, I’ve felt so vulnerable,
because I once had a miscarriage.
Every time I’m pregnant, I worry about whether it will end with a healthy baby.
After the doctor tells me about the blood clot, I feel weak.
I hold it together until I get to the car. Then, I start shaking.
“This can’t happen again,” I think. “Please, G-d, let this baby live.”
Somehow, I drive myself home. I feel like a rag doll and practically collapse on my couch. I
realize I have no control.
I sit down and visualize myself leaning back into Hashem’s presence. I think, I have no choice
but to give it to G-d. I realize that my body is Hashem’s vessel, and regardless of the outcome,
He’s handling it. I would have to wait it out.
Throughout the rest of my pregnancy, negative thoughts creep in. I have to keep reminding
myself, “This is in Hashem’s hands.” I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t have control. I don’t know what is going to happen. I have to just keep sitting with the pain. Surrendering control to Hashem initially feels extremely uncomfortable, but with time, and when I can get to that space, I am surprised that it gives me a sense of relief from my fear.
I go back to the doctor every month during my pregnancy. Every time I sit on the examination
table, I am scared. I am always told: the clot is still there.
I keep forcing myself to surrender emotionally for another month.
Despite the odds, I give birth on Rosh Hashanah that year to a beautiful and healthy baby girl.
With much gratitude to Hashem, we name her Livia, which means “to crown” from Mishlei.
She is born right after the shofar blowing.
I discovered my relationship with Hashem in my most transformative moments. And now when I hear the shofar blowing I feel my soul awakened to that bond. Rosh Hashanah reminds me of that relationship and the potential for such a deep connection with my Creator.
Sarah Pachter is an international speaker and author. She has been featured on podcasts, Radio, and is a regular columnist whose work has been translated into several languages. She has authored Is it Ever Enough? published by Feldheim and Small Choices Big Changes published by Targum Press. She currently resides in Los Angeles with her husband and five children.
You can purchase her books here: https://amzn.to/3w96X7J