Let me start by telling you about our first daughter Marisa, born April 7, 2002. She was 22 weeks gestation, almost 18 weeks premature. In terms of viability for her to survive that is as close as it gets. At birth she weighed 1 pound, 7 ounces and was 11 inches long. She lived in my and my husband's arms for 40 very precious minutes. I'm not going to describe to you the heartbreak and joy of those moments. It is impossible to communicate. Suffice to say, she is and will always be my first angel.

After two years and another failed pregnancy, we conceived Morgan. This was the first time we had conceived without infertility treatments, and we clearly, hopefully, excitedly believed she was our little miracle. Then some things just went south. I went on bed rest at 10 weeks, had a cerclage (stitch in the cervix) placed at 12 weeks. At 18 weeks my cervix was quickly disappearing, and her little feet were unfortunately pressing against it, too.

At 22 weeks I was hospitalized due to pre-term labor. Given our past, we feared the worst and prepared for it, even when I reached 23 weeks (still in the hospital). I was given doses of steroids to help mature the baby's lungs as we were all sure she was coming soon. On the 7th of June, exactly 26 weeks 3 days gestation, Morgan Marisa was born, weighing 1 pound, 11 ounces and 13 inches long.

Looking back on it, getting to the birth was probably the easiest part. Morgan spent 116 days in the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), literally fighting for her life right up until she was discharged. Her first week of life was the easiest and the staff referred to it as the honeymoon period. We didn't quite get what they meant, but we were soon to find out.

After that the fights became daily, sometimes hourly. Between the massive fluid retention in her lungs and the constant plunges in heart rate, I can't count the number of times we watched the nurses rush over to give her CPR. It's a very helpless feeling to watch the heart and oxygen monitor of your child continue to fall and fall.

As she reached her original due date, Morgan put on a gastronomy feeding tube with the hopes that it would help her feeding aversion – she choked (reflux) every time she took the bottle. She was sent home, against our will, on Sept 15 and we had to bring her back 6 hours later. Another week in the NICU for observation and they sent her home again. She made it 14 hours this time. At 7 am the next morning, I tube fed her as she was asleep. Half way through the feeding, she refluxed, her body turned blue, and her heart monitor went off.

We pulled her out of bed and my husband began to do a procedure to try to get her to breathe again. I turned her oxygen all the way up, which was followed by a moment I will never forget, the sound of her heart monitor hitting a piercing, constant scream, meaning Morgan had no heart rate. There I was, watching my husband holding my child, gray and lifeless, in my home, in my bed. If I can prevent just one parent from going through that, it is worth it.

My husband (a volunteer firefighter) began CPR and resuscitated her successfully just as the paramedics and fire department arrived. The very next day she was taken into surgery to stop her reflux. She came home a week later, on October 15th, to stay for a short time.

For 2 weeks she was home with us when I noticed her breathing quickly. Her doctor asked us to just watch her closely and if it got worse, to call. At 9 pm it got worse – she was breathing 90+ breaths per minute. The pediatric ER took X-rays only to find that she had partial collapse of both lungs because her fluid retention had come back severely. Back to the hospital she went and spent another week in the ICU and pediatric unit.

This was the pattern of our entire first year, complete with weekly ER visits, fear, and stress. But Morgan was able to survive where Marisa couldn't. She wasn't any better or worse, just a little bit different. And so I'm writing this as Morgan gets ready for her 17th month on this green earth. She is doing wonderfully and has no signs of her lung disease that they were sure she would fight for more than a few years. I do hope that my contribution to your effort will help others avoid the trauma, heartbreak, and pain associated with premature birth. As I see it, Project LifeSail and the efforts of the March of Dimes are like my daughters Marisa and Morgan – reflections of the different shapes of angels.