I was 31 weeks pregnant when doctors placed me on strict bed rest. My husband was irritated from the moment the restrictions began. He complained about having to cook, clean, and handle errands. Whenever I tried to explain how scared I was, he rolled his eyes and said I was making the pregnancy my entire personality. I kept convincing myself that he was stressed and overwhelmed. I wanted to believe that because the alternative was too painful to consider.
One night, I woke up with a sharp pain that felt like someone had reached inside me and twisted everything apart. Within minutes, I was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. The doctors performed an emergency C-section, and our son arrived weighing less than three pounds. I barely got a glimpse of him before he was rushed into the NICU. As I lay in recovery, exhausted and terrified, I kept asking where my husband was. Nobody seemed eager to answer.