There are worse places to be on Christmas Eve than snowy Colorado. Yet after almost a month of being stuck in the neonatal intensive care unit of a Denver hospital, my wife, Amber, and I were more than ready to go home. Our problem: Home was 2,000 miles away in Orlando, Fla., and our doctors weren’t about to let Amber, who was barely 24 weeks into an already complicated, high-risk pregnancy, get in an airplane. We desperately wanted to spend Christmas Day with our 4-year-old son, who we hadn’t seen in weeks but who at least was safe with family across the country. It became apparent that flight wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
