Issue link: http://read.uberflip.com/i/301854
22 The doctor left me by myself. I was alone in my hospital room worried about Bryant. Surely, I had done something wrong. There had to be something I could have done differently during the pregnancy, while planning the c-section, I thought. What had I done? What could I do now? Bryant's fighting to stay alive in another room where I can't see him or be with him, and I am all alone in the hospital powerless with no where to turn. Mindlessly flipping channels on the TV in my room, I landed on a local Christian channel. They were about to go off the air, taking last-minute prayer requests. I reached for the phone and started punching in the numbers flashing on the TV screen. The program was ending; no way I'm going to get through. But I kept punching. That's when it happened. I'll never forget it. I heard a voice ask me, "Do you? Do you have any prayer requests?" "Yes!" "Yes, I do." With every ounce of energy I had in me I tried to speak without crying, but I just couldn't do it. "My son was just born and they tell me he has a 50/50 chance of pulling through his respiratory distress without pneumonia set- ting in and possibly causing him to die. Can you pray for him?" By now, the ending credits had started rolling on the TV screen before me. This show was over.