The time I came closest to death was before I even able to be alive. My mother had had three miscarriages before me, resulting in only one ovary left and yet I was still able to be growing into what I am today within her. I was three months early, barely breathing, and expected to not make it through the night, and if so, I would have serious physical restrictions, my brain wasn’t fully developed, and I was suppose to be severely autistic.Sitting there my dad held me between his hand and elbow as he was given the decision to take away my breathing and lay me to rest so I wouldn’t go through the misery the doctors said I would eventually have. I made it through that night, and same with the next, the one after that as well. My parents decided to keep me and I have luckily made it through every night since them. I’m not autistic, I don’t have significant physical restrictions. Nothing is overly wrong with me, other than maybe I am writing in a library book.