The white sedan zipped down the city streets, passing cars frantically, horn honking. Inside, Mark Strickland sat behind the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped it. "You're gonna get us killed before we ever get there," Mary, Mark's wife, said calmly as she reached out and gently held Mark's hand, making him ease up on the hand control which regulated the gas pedal on the car. Her other hand rested lightly on her protruding stomach.

"Sorry," Mark said as he slowed the vehicle down. "I'm just anxious." His eyes lit up as he saw the hospital sign and quickly turned into the parking lot. Yanking his handicap placard from the glove compartment, he quickly dialed the hospital's number. "Yeah, this is Mark Strickland,' he said into the receiver. "My wife and I are here. Can you please send someone out to help us?"

He hung up the phone and opened the door. Grabbing the hydraulic controls, he slowly lowered his wheelchair from its compartment above the car and got in as two orderlies came out with another wheelchair, gently guiding his wife into it. They rushed into the hospital.

Fourteen hours later, after hours of screaming and cursing her husband's name, Mary Hall Strickland gave birth two a bouncing baby boy. Mark held him gingerly, afraid, tears in his eyes. "Hey David," he said softly. "Welcome home