My baby is 40 years old today.
He was born three months early, weighed just a bit over a couple of pounds and nearly died four times before his original “due date”.
I was extremely lucky in that when he was born, a brand new hospital in a Chicago suburb had opened…and it had a neonatal intensive care unit…the very first one in the United States.
Rich was transferred to Northshore Evanston Hospital the day he was born. It had opened in 1977 just a few months before Rich’s birth.
I had to travel by train every day, twice a day in order to feed him and visit in his unit. His nurses were some of the most incredibly dedicated people I have ever met, and literally brought him back to life after four instances of heart failure.
Rich stayed in the NICU until August when he had finally stopped having those pesky heart problems, gained enough weight to leave and learned how to suck from a bottle. I brought home a four pound baby and was terrified I was somehow going to hurt him through my ignorance. That four pounder is now six feet tall and an Army Veteran.
Happy birthday my love, my baby, my pride and my joy.