I learned that being a mother to nine children would not be a single extraordinary moment.
It would be thousands of ordinary moments, repeated every day.
It would be feeding schedules, sleepless nights, medical appointments, and the constant fear that one of them might become unwell.
It would also be nine little hands reaching for mine.
A week later, the hospital arranged a meeting with us and its independent review team.
The director apologized for the failures in the records and promised that the hospital would implement stricter identification and transfer procedures.
Mamdouh listened without interrupting.
When the director finished, my husband stood.
“An apology cannot give my wife back the days she spent believing that one of her children might have disappeared,” he said. “But you can make sure that no other family has to experience this.”
The director lowered his head.
“We will do everything we can.”
Mamdouh sat down again.
