Booper was born at 26 weeks gestation in 1987. This happened after two weeks in labor and delivery, hoping to keep him where he belonged. Two weeks is a long time to contemplate what life might look like with a premature baby. Two weeks of not showering, alternating between being allowed to eat and only having ice chips, based on what level the contractions were at. Oh, and did I mention my water broke 12 hours after the contractions started.

After my water broke, I was transferred to a teaching hospital in Chicago. July is not the month you want to have that happen. That's the month the new residents start. I was a star patient because I presented with an issue. My amniotic fluid did not fern. Apparently, there is a chemical that is put with the amniotic fluid on a slide and it causes a fern pattern. At day three we put a stop to the new residents checking the amniotic fluid for ferning.

The drugs to stop the contractions were horrible. One made me so anxious I wanted to crawl out of my skin, the other made me thirsty and depressed. Neither were ideal and at day 10 I began to lose my mind. I began to cry and be angry. I watched the Oliver North hearings. No real choice. This was in the time prior to cable or cell phones. None of that improved my humor. Did I mention it was July in Chicago, and Labor and Delivery was not air conditioned?

My husband had to go to work while I was there. The railroad likes the machinists to be there to fix the trains. He would come to see me in the morning then go to work on the 3-11 shift. He felt hopeless and uncertain. He was scared and tried to be strong and supportive. He was exhausted and frazzled.

On night thirteen, I began to run a temperature. This was what they dreaded and told me there would be no choice but to deliver Booper. It was about midnight and I asked if we could wait until my husband could be there and could he get a little sleep before they delivered him. We compromised. They stopped the drugs and said they would let the contractions run their course. At 5 am, I wasn't having any contractions and they felt it was time. I called Mike, and he made record time from the far south suburbs. Now, they decided to induce labor. I was beginning to resent this little person. He was in such a hurry to get here and NOW, he has the audacity to drag his feet and change position. He extended an arm to wave at the world ,as the contractions were increasing in frequency, intensity and duration. Some nice resident felt that the arm presentation was not the best idea and repositioned him.

I was exhausted and told them I was done. Unfortunately, I still had a child to deliver. He was arriving now. I delivered a 2 pound 7 ounce, 15 inch long baby boy. Mike was able to see him, but I was not. They whisked him away to the land of the NICU. Apgars of 2 and 7 were better than they thought they would be. I was given more medications because of some complications. I went to sleep.

The first time I saw Booper, he was ruddy colored, his eyes closed, a tube in his mouth, and tube in his nose, no diaper, and a tube in the umbilicus. He was my child, but I could not hold him. My depression increased. I was too tired to cry.

My room was on the postpartum floor. It was some distance from the NICU. It required an elevator ride to get there. I felt horrible and I was sick. I was taking antibiotics, my body exhausted from trying to hold on and my brain was reeling from all of the issues we now faced. They wanted me to pump. Sure I said, but how do I do that?. They brought in the equipment and I started. I wanted to sleep and would fall into the sleep of an exhausted, worried parent. There was the issue of wanting to be with him and my nurses wanting to give me IV medications in my room. There was the issue of getting to the place where he was. The final issue was, I knew he was my son. We had given him a name, we claimed him as ours, yet we could not hold him. We were barely allowed to touch him. He cried with no tears and no sounds.

Booper decided he did not like the tube in his mouth. Somehow, he managed to get it out. They decided to see if he could breath on his own. I felt like I was watching someone who was dying, gasping for breath. The tears ran down my cheeks. There was nothing I could do. This experiment was not successful and they intubated him. They also positioned him so he could not do it again.

Booper was born on a Tuesday. I went home on Friday. Mike brought me home and then he went to work. I showered in my own house, took my medicine and slept. I went to dinner at my brother's house. I pumped breast milk with a battery run pump that hurt. I cried. I went to sleep in a house by myself. That night the phone rang. Booper's jaundice was worse. They were considering options to treat him. "Should we come back? What were we to do?" No, we did not need to go back, but we needed to be aware they were going to consider all the options. Now, I had a new worry and again I was awake.

I learned how to call the NICU and be assertive. If I did not like what the nurse was telling me, I asked to speak to the resident. I was needy and scared. They had my person that I did not yet get to hold. Saturday, we stayed home. I was too tired and still sick from the infection. I needed to rest. I called them every 4 hours like clock work. The jaundice had peaked and was resolving. The lights were effective. I was grateful.

Sunday, we went back to the hospital. I was dreading the time it took to scrub my hands, don a gown. I was dreading what I would see. Booper was golden. His skin was yellow and his eyes were tinted yellow. I could see that because he looked at me with crystal blue eyes. He seemed to have every tube known to medical science coming out of him. I just stared at him.

"Are you ready to hold him?" "Really? I can hold him?" "Yes" She then wrapped up this little tiny person, who weighed less than a healthy chicken, and handed him to me. There were tubes from every orifice. There were buzzers going off all around me. Nurses were moving quickly, with confidence, using a language that would soon become familiar. I sat there, on a stool, with a tiny bundle in my arms. This was my son. I was his mom. Our journey was just beginning.

Booper (not his real name) is 30. He is married to a wonderful young woman. He is a fine man, a loving and caring husband and my son.