“Becca, push a little more. Come on. You can do this,” I said softly, encouraging the mother to deliver. I tried to focus on the task at hand. By doing so, I could push my emotions deep within me. Because if I thought about the details surrounding Becca’s current circumstances, I knew I might start to cry. “Stay strong,” I then said, for both of us. Keep it together, I muttered to myself.
Then the baby came. A small struggle to live ensued. Small movements. Kicking. Hand waving. Barely distinguishable. The lungs had not yet developed. At only 20 weeks of gestation, there was no hope of this baby surviving. Within a minute, the baby passed.