The activity at the end of the hospital corridor did not surprise me...I had been expecting it...I just didn't know when it was going to happen. I had stepped out of the room where my wife, Tina, had been laying - hooked up to all kinds of gadgets - all of which were supposed to be monitoring what was taking place with her pregnancy.

The entire pregnancy had been hard on Tina...it had been hard on both of us. Early on, we had been told there might be problems. There had come a point in time when it had become apparent that our baby would be born prematurely. We had been assured that this was common, and that there was no real need for worry.

When Tina started her seventh month, by having contractions, we noticed a marked difference in the way the doctors and nurses dealt with us. Before, they seemed completely unphased by the idea of an early delivery. Now, they almost seemed as though they were taking steps for their own protection...instead of answering all our questions. They started giving Tina medication to stop her labor pains. When asked about the effects of the medication on the baby, they said they must do all they could to allow our baby's lungs to fully develop. The medication made Tina shake to the point that the very bed she was lying on would move up and down. I finally pinned a nurse up against the wall and got her to tell me that the baby would experience the same kind of reaction to the drug as Tina. The thoughts of our baby shaking uncontrollably was disconcerting, but, everyone told us that this was really the lesser of two evils. It would be better for our baby to suffer temporarily than to enter this world with under-developed lungs.

By the middle of her seventh month, the Dr. was no longer willing to check Tina for fear that her water would break. The next few weeks consisted of going to the hospital and allowing them to do all they could to stop Tina from going into full-blown labor.

Two weeks into Tina's eighth month, we were, once again, at the hospital. When they hooked Tina up to the monitor, it was found that every time she had a contraction, the baby's heart rate would drop. At first, those examining Tina told us that the baby must be positioning itself against the umbilical cord and, temporarily, cutting off its air supply. This had happened a couple of times, but, we were told that this often happened and that we should not be alarmed.

As I walked down the corridor, I cursed myself for having left Tina's side to smoke a cigarette. I had already decided tha they didn't make a cigarette long enough to calm my nerves. I could only wonder what all the commotion was about. Surely everything was ok with the baby. I had only been gone for six or eight minutes. We had been up here for a couple of hours without incident. What could be going on that would have everyone in such a rush?

As it turns out, the rush had come about completely by accident. A doctor had walked by Tina's room and had noticed the monitor recording Tina's contractions...and that the baby's heart rate was dropping. By the time I reached the room, there were a half a dozen nursed unhooking Tina from the monitors and beginning to prep her for an emergency "C" section. I have wondered a thousand times about what would have happened to our little girl had that doctor not walked by Tina's room.

I can still remember the look of terror on my wife's face as they wheeled her past me...on the way to surgery. I will also never forget the doctor's face as he hurriedly explained what was about to take place. "Every time your wife has a contraction, your baby's heart rate drops drastically. Your baby is in fetal distress. We have to do something now before it is too late." He paused long enough to allow his comments to sink in, and then continued..."Because of the situation, I am not going to be able to give your wife much in the way of medication. It would be too risky for your baby. I will be able to give her a 'local'...but, she is going to feel most of this!"

There are simply no words to describe the moments that followed. I do not remember breathing until I saw our little girl being carried across the room. I remember how little and lifeless she looked as the specialist began to work on her. I do remember the overwhelming waves of relief that came rushing over me when I heard my little daughter begin to cry. I remember thinking that it was finally over! I have re-played that moment, over and over, in my mind, for the past eight years. At that precise moment...I was relieved that the worst was over...oblivious to the fact that...in all reality...it had only begun!