On November 12th I had a routine ultrasound that my husband and I

attended. I hadn’t felt my little boy move all morning, but I thought since we had the ultrasound we would get peace of mind.

The little one had other ideas, because when we got there they couldn’t detect any movement either. They contacted my midwife, who consulted with an OB at our chosen hospital and they both agreed on one thing: our baby needed to come out immediately. She sent us to the hospital and would meet us there.

Upon arrival I was rushed into a gown, and hooked up to a fetal monitor. I had a team of surgeons, nurses and doctors crammed into the assessment room, all talking to me at once, explaining that I would be rushed in for an emergency C Section and my baby would be born shortly. There wasn’t time to do an epidural so I could be awake (which I was later very thankful for), so they hooked up an IV, and wheeled me away. I was terrified, my husband was terrified, and I only got one quick kiss and a goodbye before they took me away. I didn’t fully understand what was going on, or how distressed the baby was.

I was taken to the very bright, scary operating room, surrounded by strangers in blue masks and scrubs. They had an oxygen mask on me, and a very kind nurse/doctor held my hand and told me she would be there and help me through. I felt it vividly when they put the catheter in, and saw when they hung the sheet in front of my face. The next thing I knew I felt myself go unconscious.

When I woke up I was incredibly groggy, but I saw my husband come to check on me clad in a yellow gown and hair net, and I kept asking how our baby was, what did he look like, was he ok? He replied that he was beautiful, and he was doing great. Little did I know only one of those things was true at the time.

Because of the condition I was in, he couldn’t tell me that our son had come out of me blue, not breathing, and without a heartbeat. He received CPR from a very talented team, and was revived, but they didn’t know how long he would survive. He was taken to the NICU, put in an incubator, and hooked up to a half dozen pumps of medication to keep him alive. He was also intubated, and had a central line put in his belly button.

My husband diligently went back and forth between the two of us, making sure we were ok. Our boy is a warrior though, and fought with everything he had to stay in this world.

It was almost a full 24 hours before I was recovered enough to meet him, and it crushed me to see him so hooked up, and separated from me.

He is now over two weeks old, and has made so much progress that he’s in a open air cot, is breathing on his own, no longer needs any pumps for medication, and is the cutest darn thing I’ve ever seen.

It’s been hard to go back and forth to the hospital every day since I was discharged, but we manage, and are so thankful for every minute we have with him. We’ll get to bring him home soon, and I will never take him or my husband for granted. There are many many more things that happened in the two weeks to get us here, but the important thing is that he’s ok, and we’re together as much as possible.

Please be thankful for your little ones, no matter how frustrating it may be. Because you never know how long you have or how things can change. I would give anything to have him crying in the next room right now, and pray every day that we get to have that soon.