When I found out my best friend was pregnant, she was not my best friend. Alanna and I got along, and hung out on multiple occasions, but it was always with other friends. I knew her boyfriend although I was not fond of him.

Ironically, neither was she.

It became clear she wasn't planning on raising the baby in a forced relationship, so she broke things off pretty quickly. Within the first few months of her pregnancy, the both of us became less familiar with the friends that had brought us together. Instead of pulling us apart, this only strengthened our friendship. We spent all summer together and she was a perfect mom, doing everything right. I jumped in the pool while she slowly lowered herself in. I wore skinny jeans while she bought maternity boxers. However, I also ate what she ate so those skinny jeans didn't fit for long.

Alanna found out she was having a baby boy and decided to name him Roman Kelly Varnado after her father who had died a few years before. I watched as her belly grew, our hearts growing with it. My mind was blown. This was a girl who had once gotten so drunk she threw up all over our friends living room, and now she was growing a life. This had changed both of us, but she was a new person. We spent so much time planning. The entirety of one day was spent on the floor of a children's bookstore picking out our favorites to read to him.

About three weeks before her due date, I went to a doctor's appointment with her. We sat in a waiting room surrounded by women who were mostly just as pregnant, but undoubtedly much older. Although Alanna was eighteen and had graduated high school mid-pregnancy, she had such a young face that when we were in public we often received the look that said, "Who is this reckless fifteen year old?"

At this point in her pregnancy, her legs took on a bright red color that gave me anxiety. To prevent this, I had her prop her legs up on my knees every chance I got to restore blood flow. When we asked her doctor about this being a problem, she said it was mostly normal, but if it got too bad they may have to induce her.

Two weeks later at six o'clock in the afternoon, Alanna sat on my couch with a palm on her back. I told her she was in labor and she told me I was wrong. She told me it was just back pain and I told her she was wrong. We went on like this for a while. She said "It's not contractions, if it were contractions it would be coming and going. This is just going..." A few minutes passed and she was complaining about the pain again. I finally convinced her to call her home nurse, who told her to go to the hospital just in case. The hospital admitted her for preeclampsia (low circulation, high blood pressure, etc.) and she was induced at five o'clock the next morning.

This labor lasted forever. She was dilated maybe a centimeter more every three hours, and I couldn't be in the room with her. Alanna's sister walked out to the waiting room and said, "Katie, she just wants you." The walk down that hallway was never-ending. After what felt like a year, I got to the door and saw she had kicked everyone out of the room. When I walked in, it was just us and a nurse. Her face was red, and she couldn't stop crying. All I could do was hold her hand and promise she's the strongest person I know.

The doctors waited until a high fever became something to worry about. Roman had a bowel movement inside of her. They performed an emergency C-section, but Roman had ingested the bowel movement which led to an infection on his lungs. He was born on August 1, 2016, and when he took his first breath, his lung punctured.

Alanna got to see him, not touch him, for an hour while he was sedated, but he was soon medevacked to Children's Hospital to be put on an ECMO Machine. I spent a week by Alanna's bed in the ICU and helped her order food, go to the bathroom, and whatever else she needed. She finally made it to New Orleans, albeit painfully, so she could be there for the second of seven surgeries he eventually had.

Alanna had just begun sleeping at home again when the flood hit. The "Great Flood of 2016" as it is now referred to, swallowed our cities. While my neighborhood was one of the only areas in our town not to flood, Alanna's was filled with six feet of water. Roman's baby books were gone. It all was. I had hand stitch a small pillow for his crib and embroidered his name; I have not seen it since. Alanna lost her childhood memories, and the only vehicle she could use to get to her son. Roman was still in New Orleans, but safe from the flood.

With the help of a GoFundMe, Alanna got a new car to visit her baby boy. Roman had yet another surgery and at some point, after he turned one month old, he was off of ECMO. I walked the halls of children's hospital with his mother, watching as she slowly found herself feeling secure in her son's safety against his own body. We read him Dr. Seuss, sang to him, and I told him what was happening outside the hospital. He had a tube down his throat but never took his eyes off of us. He looked just like his mother, and he was beautiful.

Roman wasn't healed like he needed to be, so he was eventually put back on ECMO. The machine required him to be on a blood thinner known as heparin. Unfortunately, despite the unbelievably small chance of it, the blood thinner caused a brain bleed. The doctors were forced to take him back off ECMO, but Roman couldn't oxygenate his blood alone. Alanna watched as her son's oxygen levels dropped. He was literally dying in front of her and she could do nothing. We all held out hope that he might pull through, but knew it was futile.

Alanna finally held her son, and the day before his two month birthday, Roman Kelly passed away.

It has been a little over a year since his death now. I have never missed anyone so much in my life. I started college last fall. I watch the sunrise on my beautiful campus and think of those beautiful eyes staring me down. Alanna will be deployed with the Navy in two days. While so much has changed in the past year, she hasn't given up. Two years ago she was a pregnant 17-year-old who could only define her future as, "I will be a mother."

Today she's my hero.