by Diana Leigh

Created on: September 15, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

We never got to meet her, but we know she's there. Our little angel.

It was one of those blustery cold winter days in Pennsylvania when the first call came. Our son told us that his wife was in labor, although it was way too soon. She was just 26 weeks pregnant, in the hospital, and they were trying desperately to stop her labor. There was little we could do. Our son and his wife were in the Army and stationed in Monterey, California. Might as well have been on the other side of the world. All we could do was wait and worry. I, especially, do that well.

Time passed in a blur. It was difficult to wait for another call to get more news. Cell phones were not something that we had as we have today, so our landlines were all we had. We sat by the phone waiting for word, any word. Our son phoned as often as he could. He related that they were not able to stop her labor, and words like "surfactant," a drug to help the lungs, and Nick Yoo began to creep into the conversations. Soon, all too soon, the call came that would change everything.

Brittany Ann, weighing 2 pounds, 2 ounces, came into this world on March 6, 1990. She was so tiny. She was rushed off to the NICU (NIck Yoo) (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) and assessed. Her initial Apgar scores (the test given to a newborn which indicate their physical condition) were very low. It was going to be a long road for her, and us.

Each new day was a roller coaster ride. One minute she was fine, the next there was a new complication. She was taken to surgery several times to correct problems that presented. Doctors and nurses were optimistic, pessimistic, back to optimistic. Our son and daughter in law never left the hospital. It was hard to be so far away and not be able to do anything but wait. She continued to improve during the week that followed. Doctors and nurses were encouraged.

On the morning of the eighth day came the phone call we dreaded. During the night she had developed another, more serious complication, this time with her bowels. Her chances of survival were not good. We all prepared for the worst. It didn't take much longer. When the phone rang early in the evening we heard words we hadn't wanted to hear. She was gone.

The very next morning, during the dreary March winter sky, the sun shone brightly for the first time in months. It was then we knew. We had an angel watching over us. She was eight days old.

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