Amber Anderson

"When I think about what awaited me the day my son came into this world, nothing could’ve prepared me for the cold, sterile, white room — the bare layout, with just a bed and two broken chairs surrounded by unfamiliar sounds and faces as my water came gushing all over the floor. I looked up to see my husband staring back at me, concern etched across his face. Neither of us knew how to wrap our minds around the big, painful word looming in that room: 'prematurity.'

"Just an hour before, the nurse directed me to lay down, noting in her chart that I was 'difficult and combative.' She prescribed rest and a sleeping pill, and when I refused, she just left us alone in that room. I looked at my husband again, this time to say it out loud, 'I’m scared. I can’t do it.' In the back of my mind, I wondered if I would die in the empty room. But he whispered in my ear, 'Yes, you can. Be brave.'

"So I pushed, with my husband holding me — the soundtrack he made for us playing in the background. And then, as if the sky had cracked open and breathed life into that room, my son appeared. He screamed, loudly, and then stopped the second he was placed on my chest. But it was only for a blissful moment. Nurses whisked him away.

"When I finally saw my son again, his eyes were closed. He had goop on his face. And my husband had tears in his eyes. They had to put my son under. My whole heart sank and all I could do was let my husband hold me, hold us, together. Today my son is vibrant and beautiful — full of energy and life. And so deeply loved. But I’ll never forget that cold, sterile room and two broken chairs. They will always be a part of our story, on the day I became a mom."

—Amber Anderson