I felt drained in a way I can't quite explain. I feared I was about to enter a dark place I'd never been invited to before. But the nurse just smiled. "Oh, your baby is doing so well that we moved him upstairs to an open-air bassinette," she said. He'd been in a so-called "closed-air bassinette," which is a more benign description of an incubator. If relief, we raced up the stairs to the other ward, and there was Dylan, screaming his way into his childhood. Dylan's birth was a reminder to me of the roles we get to play in our destinies. Jai and I could have made things worse by falling into pieces. She could have gotten so hysterical that she'd thrown herself into shock. I could have been so stricken that I'd have been no help in the operating room. Through the whole ordeal, I don't think we ever said to each other: "This isn't fair." We just kept going. We recognized that there were things we could do that might help the outcome in positive ways … and we did them. Without saying it in words, our attitude was, "Let's saddle up and ride."