Imagine….finding out that your 7 weeks pregnant and telling you happy new husband.

Imagine….2 days later starting to bleed.

Imagine….losing your job because of the required bed rest.

Imagine….constantly getting collection calls and eviction notices because of the decrease in income.

Imagine….spending 2 more months bleeding and spotting wondering which days will I miscarry.

Imagine….ending the spotting only to start feeling pains and early contractions.

Imagine….having a radiologist mash on your stomach and denying you a chance to see you unborn baby in the ultra-sound just because she was having a bad day.

Imagine….having to quit your new job because the pains you feel are so bad, you can’t walk.

Imagine….you doctor constantly telling you that your paranoid.

Imagine….only gaining 6 pounds the whole pregnancy, then losing it all to the flu.

Imagine….your doctor finally agreeing that something MIGHT be wrong so he schedules you for a series of tests and screening.

Imagine….you wishing the whole thing was over.

Imagine….getting your wish. You go into labor 2 hours after being intimate with your husband and your only 32 weeks pregnant.

Imagine….waiting around for 3 hours because after 2 false alarms and 4 doctor visits with him telling you the nothing was wrong, you’re afraid to bother everyone at 3 a.m. in the morning.

Imagine….still believing that it’s a false alarm until the RN tells you that your 5 centimeters dilated.

Imagine….no time for drugs.

Imagine….pushing at 8 centimeters because with each contraction your baby’s heart rate slows.

Imagine….doctors and nurses taking him from you….

Imagine….dropping grapefruit sized blood clots.

Imagine….right after having natural child birth a doctor sticking a cold metal speculum inside you to see if you have a tear.

Imagine….seeing the reflection of your body being sown up in your doctor’s glasses.

Imagine….the next time your able to see your son is 12 hours later. You touch his pale yellow 3 lbs. body and it jumps away from you.

Imagine….crying the night before you leave the hospital because your baby, the person who has been with you for 8 months cannot go with you.

Imagine….the day after you’re released from the hospital, against doctor’s and your parents’ orders, you walk back to the hospital to be close to your son.

Imagine….not being able to breastfeed your son because your nipples are bigger then his mouth.

Imagine….a daily regimen that lasts for a month. Consisting of 9 a.m.-breast pump milk; 11:30 a.m.-call the hospital and ask if he’s gained any weight; 12 p.m.-pump more milk; 1 p.m.-walk to the hospital; 2 p.m.- deliver milk and try to feed him; 3 p.m.- sitting in the waiting room trying to kill time until the next feeding; 5 p.m.- trying to feed him again; 6 p.m.- waiting for my husband to arrive so he can say hi to our son; 7 p.m. – catch a ride him with my mother; 7:30 p.m. – cry for hours because the doctors and the nurses found some way to make the whole thing feel like my fault.

Imagine….the guilt.

Imagine….the confusion.

Imagine….the loneliness.

Imagine….

Now Imagine….the fear when your son is allowed to come home weighing only 4.11 lbs.

Imagine….sitting up the whole night watching his crib wishing that you still had the monitors and the nurses just in case something went wrong.

Imagine….the delight to hear that your son is in excellent health and is developing at a normal rate like a full term baby.

Imagine….the sight of your 8 month old 24 lbs. 31 inch baby sitting up in bed to greet you in the morning.

Imagine….the joy of hearing your son babbling out ‘mommy’ as he crawls around the living room floor.

Imagine….the love

Imagine….the happiness

Imagine….the smiles

Imagine….

Terri Woods wife to Tony, and mother to 32-weeker Antonio Marcus Tyrin Woods (8 months).

Pictures at http://www.angelfire.com/md/pokkiechan