It was Christmas morning. I woke up around 4 in the A.M with a stomach ache. I tried switching positions in bed, tried drinking some water and tried to just go back to sleep. My stomach ache just would not go away. I just so happen to text my boyfriends mother and to my surprise got an immediate response. We were supposed to head over there for breakfast later that day then head to a family dinner.

     I told her about my stomach ache and she thought that maybe I should try to eat something and go back to bed for a bit. For some reason though, nothing helped. At this time, I was six months pregnant. So to be a little more cautious I called my midwife to see what she thought I should do. She advised me to come in really fast to have a quick check up.

     Since it was so early in the morning I didn’t want to bother anyone else, so I gently nudged my boyfriend and told him that I would be right back. He kind of nodded and rolled back over. I got in the car and drove to the hospital which was luckily only down the street. Maybe a ten to fifteen minute drive.

     I walked in the hospital. It was really quiet and it seemed as if no one was there. The nurse took me to an examination room and told me she would be right back. None of the midwives I had been working with were actually on duty today, so I would work with a regular doctor instead. So I changed my clothes and waited.

     The nurse came back and examined me and from her facial expressions I could tell something was wrong. She immediately told me that my stomach ache was not a stomach ache and that instead I was having contractions. At this time I was three centimeters dilated. She did an ultrasound immediately and found that my son was breech. She rolled me into another room.

     The next thing I know, my stomach pains are getting worse and I have a million people throwing different things at me. Papers to sign, needles in my arm and questions galore. Their main concern was to keep my son inside me. Twenty-eight weeks was too soon. Way to soon. I asked if I could please call my family. I was all alone and wanted someone there.

     I knew I couldn’t call my boyfriend because he would not answer the first time. So instead I called his mom so she could rush here and call his phone till he woke up. Within the next fifteen minutes so many things kept going on. My boyfriend had arrived, shortly after his mom came too. I got up to change beds and as I need blood came trickling down. They gave me medicine to stop the contractions, but they only got worse.

     Next thing you know, my water broke and I heard my boyfriends mom yell for a nurse. Once again I was thrown papers left and right, giving my consent to operate and all these privacy papers. Within a few minutes I was knocked out. The last thing I remember was telling them to make sure my baby was safe.

     I woke up what seemed like minutes later. Really, hours had passed. I was in a darker room. My boyfriend was sitting there. I asked how the baby was and he smiled and said he was fine. Fine meaning, as good as he could be. So there, on Christmas morning my son was born at only 28 weeks and weighing just about 2 pounds.

     The next few months were tough. Not knowing if he would survive, be healthy or having any sort of impairments.