... On that night I was on duty at the Vilnius Maternity Hospital which is located about 10 kilometers from the spot where the events took place. I don't want to talk about the fact that we worked in preparation of an emergency: all the reservoirs were full of water, suppositories were ready for application, emergency accumulators had been loaded. I don't want to talk about how my colleagues and I felt (in the face of that great unknown). I'd like to tell the thing that, as a doctor, obstetrician, and gynaecologist, left a deep imprint in my memory.

She was brought in at about 4 o'clock in the morning by an ambulance. The ambulance drove her over, and with its blue sirens on, rushed back, empty. A young, intelligent woman, she wore a neat winter jacket, and in her hand she was holding a polyethylene bag with things that a new-born baby might need. Her hair was neatly combed. She came alone, without her husband, her mother, or her brothers. It was like she lived completely alone, in exile. Or at least, like she had isolated herself from all human contact. Her hands were shaking and her face was pale, but her brown eyes were calm. The pupils of her eyes were enlarged though, and her blood pressure was really high. She had religiously followed the doctor's instructions during her entire pregnancy, and now, 100 days before her child was due, her amniotic fluid sac had been ruptured. I wondered why this had happened. On that night she had been at home. She had not been shot by a deadly bullet, and her ear-drums had not been torn by any powerful airwaves. But the very fact that a bullet had been shot from a gun was enough for her. Her husband was not at home - he was a member of the National Defense Department. She had been left alone, and God only knows if it's easier to be where the danger is or to wait at home.

But that doesn't matter to her now. She is a mother. Her only concern is the condition of her child. The new life that she is carrying is in danger! The woman's eyes are searching for comfort and hope. Can I give her hope? Yes, I can hear the fetus' heart beating rapidly. That rhythm is the only connection that we have. I know that she, the mother, does not feel him moving, and I know that they have both entered that stage when he will have to enter this world full of threats and danger.

It is also clear to me that the door he will have to open with his weak body is closed (it's not time for her to deliver), and I know that a woman in childbirth will be given at least 50 injections to try to facilitate the birth of an infant, to quickly prepare him for this world. The physical pain from such an injection will be felt not only by the mother, but also by the baby, who cannot understand what is going on. And ultimately I know that 50% of such babies do not survive.

Lithuania, 1991.01.13 : documents, testimonies, comments. - Vilnius : State Publishing Center, 1992, p. 152-153.