I can hardly comprehend that it has been an entire year. I look at the pictures of Sam when he was born, and I can still feel the pain in my heart as if no time has passed at all. I can remember the way his skin felt against my lips as I leaned over to kiss his little knee. It was his right knee. That's all the more contact I was allowed to have with him. In fact, it upset him so much to hear my voice that they asked me to leave the nursery.

That was several hours after the pediatrician came into my room and told us that Sam might not live. I had delivered him by C-section, and they were immediately concerned because he was what they called a "grunter". His breathing was just all wrong. I didn't know that at the time. I thought he was perfect.

I slept on and off, and when I finally woke up enough to realize that they hadn't brought him to me, I called the nursery to insist that they give him to me right away. I could tell immediately that they were uncomfortable and vague in their response. That's when the doctor showed up with the bad news. Sam had a fever. He was having respiratory distress. He wouldn't "pink up." They were very concerned, and had him listed in poor condition. I had to hear it bluntly. I was so overwhelmed with fear but I had to hear him say the words. "Is he going to die?" I asked. The doctor closed his eyes and paused, and answered simply, "He may. I just don't know." They did many tests, none of which confirmed his illness. One of the nurses in the nursery told me later that she had never seen a baby get so sick, so quickly.

The next morning they informed me that although he was still "a very sick baby," he was stable enough to transport to Childrens' Hospital. My husband and I consented, and they took him away. They allowed me to touch Sam's hand before he left. I still hadn't held my baby. Unlike before when Sam was so upset, when he heard my voice and held my finger, it seemed to calm him this time. And then they wheeled his little incubator out of my room, and I felt my world crash into a million pieces. The grief that I felt was so intense, I wondered I would die from a broken heart.

I developed a significant fever. Testing would not reveal the source of my sickness either. To complicate matters, my bowels would not move. I was still on I.V. pain medication, but my veins were all "blowing" and they were running out of places to insert new i.v.'s. My doctor wouldn't allow me to have solid food since my bowels hadn't moved, and taking the medication without real food made me sick. It was a vicious cycle that seemed to prevent me from recovering.

Meanwhile, I used the breast pump faithfully. Every 3 hours around the clock, I would chase visitors out of my room so I could pump my breasts. I remember when the first bit of colostrum came out. I was so proud! I walked (more like "shuffled") the "liquid gold" to the nursery freezer myself -- holding it in one hand and pushing my I.V. cart with the other, trying unsuccessfully to keep my bottom from hanging out the back of my hospital gown.

I had been surviving from one phone call to the next, speaking to Sam's nurses at Childrens'. He was recovering quickly, and they still were not able to identify the cause of his sickness. He had developed jaundice, and he was vomiting the contents of his bottle (Similac). It took a full 3 days for my milk to come in. As soon as it did, my husband took it to Sam.

The doctors were amazed at his recovery once he starting drinking my milk. Immediately, he stopped vomiting and they were able to take the horrible I.V. out of his head. His vitals had all still been slightly "off," and they credited his miraculous stabilization to my presence and my milk. When he was 5 days old, I was finally released from the hospital. On the hour-long drive to see him, I could barely regulate my breathing. Those 5 days had seemed like an eternity, and I had begun to feel more like I had only had a surgery, and NOT like I had had a baby. But in just a few moments, I was finally going to HOLD my son.

There were so many significant things about that moment in time, it's hard to put them all in writing. My husband and I both were overwhelmed with emotion. When they handed us our identification tags that said, "Mother" and "Father," you would have thought they had handed us a bag of diamonds.

There just are no words to adequately express what I felt when I first held Samuel. For 8 1/2 months I had carried him inside of my body, and then for 5 miserable days, he was just ripped from me and we were separated. I had felt so empty, so cold. He was asleep when I walked up to him. I asked the nurse if I could hold him, which is so funny to me now. I really didn't feel "empowered" to make decisions concerning him, although that "empowerment" came pretty fast!

I picked him up, and I just melted around him. I pressed my nose against his little head, and just breathed. I have never felt so complete.

When Sam was 8 days old, we took him home. Learning to "nurse" took a little over a week, but during that time, it felt like much longer. Pumping was very frustrating, and I wrestled with feelings of failure and inadequacy. Had I been able to vaginally deliver Sam, and had he not been sick and taken away from me, I probably wouldn't have felt so strongly about nursing. In retrospect, I feel that it was in Sam's best interest that I nursed him. However, at this time it was for my benefit that I wanted to nurse Sam. I admit my resolve was purely selfish. I was fighting for myself. I felt that I had already been robbed of the most instinctive, primal aspects of motherhood -- a vaginal delivery, holding my baby immediately after birth, etc. Now that some of the insanity-inducing hormones of pregnancy have settled down and I am more in control of my emotions, I realize the pure stupidity of those feelings. None of those things, including nursing your baby, are essential ingredients for being a great mother. But it was stubbornness that drove me. And I'm glad that I persisted now. Sam is over a year old now, and still nurses as much as he ever did. I plan to nurse him for two years at least, unless he wants to wean sooner. I'm so glad I didn't miss this...