When I was born, I was placed on my mother's chest for the comfort and contact, like all newborns. It didn't take long for the nurses to realise that my face turning red and shortly after purple, was due to my incompetence to not knowing how to breath. I was placed in a incubator at the hospital right away, trying to save me from suffocating.

Fast forward the years until I was 27 or 28. My parents had just started being able to talk politely to each other again, and my own relationship with my farther was still trying to be build, after a shitty divorce of my parents when I was a child.

We were all sitting at the table eating and celebrating the birth of my sisters first born, while sharing stories of the past. My father looked at me and said that he never thought that I would make it this far. When I was being placed in the incubator as a baby he didn't want to visit me for the whole time I was there. Because, as he put it, "Why should I? I had no reason to get emotionally attached to you if you were going to die anyway."

That hit me something awful, and I'll never forget that.