Patricia was standing in the doorway of room four, her gift bag clutched against her coat as she tried to slip out into the corridor.

Brooklyn was pressed against the wall behind the main desk, her hands over her ears and her eyes wide open.

I threw my weight against the heavy double swinging doors of the unit and burst into the middle of the room just as the medical team swarmed around my newborn baby’s bed.

Nurse Elena reached past two respiratory therapists, her fingers moving quickly and precisely beside the plastic hood.

She grabbed the blue plastic line and clicked the respiratory connection valve back into its locked socket with a sharp, heavy snap.