The Story

On November 1, 2018, I was working downtown when I got a call that would end up changing my life forever. My soon to be sister-in-law was being flown to the children's hospital nearby as she was going into labor, several months before her due date. Not too long after she arrived, Walter Calvin Herrera was born. At 1 pound, 1 ounce, the doctors gave him a very slim chance to even make it through his first night. The hours that passed began to add up. Each hour, another miracle. The first night came and went. Walter was still fighting. 

His parents had basically moved into the hospital to monitor his progress. During lunch breaks and any time I could spare, I would be at the hospital with them. I found myself amazed at the NICU staff and the technology that was being used to give my nephew a chance at life. Their ability to care for Walter and accommodate his parents was unlike anything I had seen. While our world seemed to be at a standstill celebrating every moment, minute, and hour that passed; those in the NICU never stopped working. Day after day, Walter's progress astounded those in the NICU, especially for a baby that was born at 22 weeks.

As Walter continued to grow, my perspective on the topic of life was completely solidified. Although I had grown up as pro-life, I wasn't entirely sure how strongly I felt on the matter. Did it matter how many weeks since conception? What is viability? Was the child ever really even alive? To be completely honest, I wasn't so sure. However, that all changed when Walter was around 10 days old. I had the chance to reach my hands inside of the incubator to hold him. Little Walter was there; eyes open taking in the room, tiny body, just bigger than my hand, squirming around, and a thin layer of hair surrounding his tan face. Perfect in every way. When I reached for him, Walter also reached out, and his hand squeezed the tip of my index finger. Just a touch, just a moment, but in that moment, there was no question. Walter was ALIVE.