The news wasn’t good: ruptured membranes. Premature, ruptured membranes. I soon found out there's not much you can do to fix that. It’s kind of like trying to put the toothpaste back in the tube. What’s done is done. I was nearly hysterical, crying in that hospital bed.
The doctors and nurses kept telling me I shouldn’t be blaming myself, that nobody knows why a pregnant woman’s water breaks. But I was sure it was something I had done. Even though I’d done everything right in this pregnancy, I’d worked like crazy putting up Christmas decorations those two days before—bending, reaching, standing up and down, lifting.
I will always believe that’s what made this happen. And I will forever be sorry … to you, my baby William … for not giving you a better start.
I remember being wheeled into the operating room ... leaving Mark in the hallway until they administered the anesthesia. When he came in and held my hand, I was more scared than I had been in a very long time. I could not believe this was actually happening. My baby was actually going to be born at 27 weeks gestation.