Anyone who has been a parent can relate to the fear that you feel when your child is somehow out of your control. It doesn't matter if the child is eight days old, eight months old, or eight years old. Even though Bain is now 28, I still worry about him. I always will, it comes with the territory.

It was early February, 1977 and I was working for the Virginia State legislature. My pregnancy had been going along fine, although I had been leaking some fluid for a few days. But as it was our busiest time of year at work and my doctor didn't seem too alarmed, I thought nothing of it. Until Thursday of that work week, that is. I knew something wasn't right. I had to call my in-laws to take me to the hospital, since my husband was coaching a women's basketball game at Virginia Commonwealth University.

Within an hour of arriving at St. Mary's Hospital, I gave birth to a 2.7 lb baby boy, James Bain Harvey, 13 weeks prior to my due date. It happened so fast that my husband Steve was unable to arrive in time to help me through the birth. Fifteen seconds after Bain was delivered he was whisked away from me to a resuscitation room. Shortly after that, the doctor, determining that Bain required additional treatment, monitoring, and expertise in order to live, sent my son over to the regional neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) at the Medical College of Virginia. This NICU had been built, in part, because of the advocacy and funding provided by the March of Dimes.

So there I sat with my husband, unable to control any of the events around the birth of my child. The questions that immediately came to mind are the same ones parents in similar situations today ask themselves: was he going to live...if he did, what would he be like...would he be picked on by other children...would he be able to grow up normally? My brother was mentally challenged, and I well knew the additional work and effort that my parents had to put in to raise a disabled child. I wondered if I would have the strength if the situation occurred with my child. These are not the things you want to have to think about when you have just given birth and your child isn't even in the same hospital as you.

Fortunately, Bain hung on and I was able to go see him the next day. From then on, progress was slow. I would call just to get a weight count. A half of an ounce was such a thrill. Two weeks after birth I went back to work, but would visit in the mornings, at lunch, and in the evenings. After a month, we were finally able to hold him and feed him. Then, March 28, 1977, the hospital called to say Bain could come home. So, weighing 4 lbs, 8 ozs, 54 days after he was born, Bain was finally home.

Bain only weighed 16 lbs. at a year, and didn't walk until he was 17 months. At age five, Bain was diagnosed with cerebral palsy – one leg was shorter than the other and he had to wear a brace. But all that never really stopped him from doing anything he wanted, even playing basketball in high school. He remains now as he was then: always outgoing, popular with others, and one who just enjoys life.

Today, 28 years later, he is a testimony to what advanced medicine can provide, if the resources are available. He is a 1999 graduate of Virginia Tech, owns his own house, and works at a job he loves. He is our only child, and we love him dearly.

The circumstances around his birth provide an interesting perspective today. Without the help of a regional NICU, Bain wouldn't be here today. However, my husband and I were left sitting in a hospital bed wondering how our son was doing. Bain was at one hospital while we were at another, and that absolutely crushed our spirits. Through the March of Dimes and other unique opportunities such as Project LifeSail, we have the chance to exert our control over premature birth in two great ways: by ensuring that every hospital has its own NICU and supporting ongoing research so that eventually NICUs just won't be needed.