She met Mike in the summer of 2009. He had a girlfriend and she… well, she had something half-baked too. But Mike was fun, kind, and easy to talk to; over time, they became close friends. She quietly had a crush on him, but at the time, we were both still seeing other people. That all unraveled in the fall. Once those messy relationships ended, Mike and she started talking for hours, hanging out as friends. She was still drawn to him, but she didn’t push anything. Friendship felt more important. One chilly December night, after a hockey game, Mike invited her out for darts and wings. They flirted all evening. She jokingly bet she’d win at darts, and if she did, she’d earn a kiss.
Whether she won or not, she got the kiss and with it, the start of something real. We stood outside in the snow, under his hoodie, not wanting the night to end. She’d never felt more alive. Just three weeks into dating, she told Mike she saw herself marrying him someday, and she meant it. Fast-forward three years: at a cousin’s wedding in December, she caught the bouquet, and Mike caught the garter. Everyone started teasing us about when we’d get married. Two months later: engaged. Nine months after that, in November 2013, she walked down the aisle with her dad smiling and became Mike’s wife.
Soon enough, they both wanted children. At first, they waited, thinking they might get pregnant naturally, but month after month, there was nothing. Frustrated, they turned to fertility treatments. The first was with pills, but month after month, nothing changed. Then stronger medications, then injections. The emotional toll was enormous: scans, blood tests, pain, tears. She was exhausted, frustrated, and depressed. Through it all, Mike was there, holding her up even when she lashed out. Then, after years of nothing and just after the funeral of Mike’s grandmother, doctors offered them a chance for insemination. Even though the timing felt dreadful, they went for it.
Two weeks later: negative. Shortly after, her father passed away. She broke down. She needed a break. So they paused the treatments. During that pause, one ordinary day, she felt off. On a whim, she took a pregnancy test, and to my shock, it was positive. She wrapped the test in a small box under neutral wrapping, handed it to Mike, and recorded his reaction. He opened it, paused, then burst into tears and pulled her close. We were going to have a baby. Their families were overjoyed.
At first, everything looked good. But then things turned. A painful blood clot landed her in the ER. She survived, but a month later, she began bleeding badly. She thought maybe it was nothing, but deep down she feared the worst. Then the devastating truth came: she had lost the baby. They had been waiting and hoping for so long; this felt like someone had ripped our dream away. She slipped into a deep depression. The treatments, the hope, the heartbreak, she didn’t know if she could do it again. But Mike stayed by her. He was my anchor. Three months later, she felt ready to try again. On a whim, Mike said we should test. She laughed. But she might as well, and to our amazement, it was positive.
This time, they kept it secret, afraid of hope again. Later, they told their families, cautious joy sparkled in everyone’s eyes. Sonogram confirmed: they were having a boy. Day by day, they hoped. Then complications struck. By the sixth month, her blood pressure soared. She was put on a magnesium drip. The doctors told her: she would likely spend the rest of her pregnancy in the hospital. Weeks passed. Tests, drips, uncertainty. One morning, what felt like heartburn spiraled into a full trauma. She was rushed into labor suddenly, and they had to deliver. She was only 26 weeks along. Her organs were failing. At 4:40 a.m. on August 3, 2017, four days after Mike’s birthday, they delivered their baby boy.
He was tiny: just 1 pound 10 ounces. She woke up in a hospital bed, groggy and confused. She heard Mike and my mother talking about something random. She panicked. What happened to the baby? When they finally brought him to her after the magnesium drip ended, there he was. Their son, they named him Michael Jr., “Mikey.” He went straight to the NICU, on a ventilator, tubes, fighting for his life. Doctors were blunt: his lungs were terrible; maybe he’d never have a good quality of life. Several times, they suggested they take out the breathing tube and let him go gently. But they refused. They wanted him to fight.
