My mom tells me she almost gave birth to me in a bedpan. Weighing in at 2 pounds 11 ounces and 21 inches long that would have been something of a shock to the nurse who came to remove the bedpan. I'm glad it was something other than steel that I landed on when I came into the world on this day 43 years ago.
An incubator was my home for the first 3 months. Mom says several times the nurses used their thumb to massage my chest and get my heart going again. At one point my weight dropped to 2 pounds 2 ounces. I think that was the last time in my life I was underweight.
All kidding aside I am always thankful on this day that God breathed life into me. The odds for survival were not good. I think of my brother Rodney who weighed more than I did at birth but only lived for two days. After he died the doctors told my mom that the best thing she could do was get pregnant again and so when I came along 18 months after Rodney and was another premature baby - I can only imagine her anguish.
My birthday is always a reminder that life is tenuous. I try not to take it for granted.