GRANITE BAY, Calif. — All Max Stassi could do was stare at the back of the seat in front of him, restless to get off a plane that couldn’t land fast enough.

It was March 20, 2023, and the then-Angels catcher had been ramping up in spring training. It had been a slow process all spring, as the 32-year-old recovered from an achy hip.

At the time, everything in Stassi’s life seemed to be coming into focus. He’d purchased a home six months prior in the Sacramento area, near his parents and two brothers. He’d married Gaby, the love of his life, a month later. Their son was due to be born over the summer. And he was getting ready for another season, his 11th in the majors.

With the rest of his life in a good spot, he was ready for baseball to take its place at the center of his world.

Then, in an instant, the game didn’t matter at all.

While driving to the team’s spring training complex, Stassi got a phone call. Gaby’s water had broken during an emergency room visit. She was not yet 22 weeks pregnant, but labor had begun.

Stassi dropped everything and boarded what felt like an interminably long flight from Phoenix to Chicago, not knowing what awaited him when he landed.

“When I landed in Chicago, it was like I was in a movie,” Stassi said. “Sprinting in the airport. Then I jumped in a cab, went to the hospital, then sprinted upstairs.”

Jackson Stassi was born a month later, on April 16 — after just 25 weeks and four days of pregnancy. He was one pound, eight ounces, greeted by a room full of NICU doctors. His entire hand couldn’t wrap around the tip of Max’s index finger.

Stassi missed the entire 2023 season to be with his wife and newborn son. The 32-year-old veteran backstop had been with the Angels for the last three seasons. He was traded to the Braves in December, and flipped a day later to the White Sox. His family needed him last year. But he’s ready to return to the field for the 2024 season — and he’ll restart his career in Chicago, the same city where his son was born.

Max and Gaby sat down for an interview with The Athletic earlier this week to discuss the birth of their son and the impact that it’s had on their lives. It is the first time they have publicly discussed the situation.

One in 10 babies are born prematurely, according to a 2022 Center of Disease Control study. The survival rates differ depending on how early the baby is born.

The Stassis want to tell their story because so many families have gone through, are going through or will go through the same thing. They want Jackson to read about his own story when he’s older. They want to help people.

“What you used to think is important, really isn’t anymore,” Max said. “You don’t really sweat the small stuff. It’s changed both of our lives.”

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Gaby arrived at the emergency room with stomach pains on the morning of March 20. It was before 8 a.m., and she sent her boss a note saying to expect her at work later that afternoon.

It would, however, be a month before she left the hospital.

Gaby’s water broke while in triage — entering labor at just 21 weeks and six days, more than 18 weeks ahead of schedule.

“I was trying to process what was happening, and it was not meshing with anything you know to be true,” Gaby said. “It’s too early. Why is this happening? I can’t understand that this is actually happening. And, of course, there’s the pain of labor.”

It was so early that the doctor told her that protocol dictated that viability was impossible, and that life-saving efforts wouldn’t be made. Instead, Jackson would receive a drop of morphine on his tongue to ease any pain as he passed away.

She was told that the age of gestation on the pregnancy needs to be at least 22 weeks in order for lifesaving efforts to be made. Jackson, it appeared, was arriving one day too early.

Hospital staff asked Gaby a series of impossible questions. Would she want her baby cremated? Would she want to hold him in his few moments of life?

Gaby said she pleaded with hospital staff — telling them they’d miscalculated. They were a day off, she argued.

“I just felt like if I could fight to get him a shot, that he would make it,” Gaby said. “I just felt it. How do I get to a point where somebody’s giving him a chance to live? All he needs is that chance.”

At 2 p.m., nearly six hours after labor started, it stalled. She was four centimeters dilated, about halfway through the birth process. And two hours after that, Max arrived at the hospital.

They were told of three possible outcomes. That the baby would arrive in the next 48 hours, which was the most likely. That he would be born in the next five days. Or that he could come anywhere from one to 18 weeks later. The longer he took, the better.

But, most importantly, they were told to hang on until midnight. As long as he was born after 12 a.m., lifesaving efforts could be made. Gaby lay on her hospital bed, not moving. Fearful that even the slightest twist or turn would induce labor.

Gaby was eventually moved upstairs from the delivery unit to a different hospital room. As the Angels prepared for Opening Day, Max spent every other night of that period at the hospital, save for a quick Arizona trip made in an attempt to restart his rehab. Gaby’s mother was there the nights Max wasn’t.

Gaby was told she could get up and walk around. She chose not to.

There was so much uncertainty. Would the lack of amniotic fluid cause injuries and deformities at birth? Would he have health complications? She could have no way of knowing. Any baby born under 26 weeks faces potentially fatal complications. All she knew was that every tick of the clock gave him a better shot.

“It was more the anxiety that’s hard,” Gaby said. “You just don’t want to do a sudden movement that triggers anything. I just didn’t move.”

She stayed there for four weeks, until Jackson finally arrived.

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The Stassis planned to move last offseason from Chicago to Granite Bay outside Sacramento. Gaby’s work in human resources had kept her in the Windy City, but Max and Gaby were starting a new life together, so they prepared to head to California.

All of those plans changed with Jackson’s birth. Their newly purchased Northern California home sat unoccupied as they were stuck in a holding pattern in Chicago.

Complications with the pregnancy started around the 20-week mark. Some pain led to testing. Testing revealed four concerning markers, Gaby said. The doctors recommended an amniocentesis — a medical procedure that can diagnose medical conditions in a fetus.

There are risks involved in the procedure, which necessitates placing a needle through the stomach to collect amniotic fluid. While it is statistically unlikely, the procedure can create preterm labor. And Gaby believes that’s what happened to her. About three weeks later, a week before Jackson was born, the results of the amniocentesis revealed no complications. They don’t know for certain if Gaby would have had a normal pregnancy without the test.

Doctors warned that because the baby lost its surrounding amniotic fluid when her water broke, Jackson could be born with clubbed feet, damaged bones and other abnormalities.

He didn’t have those issues at birth. However, during birth he did suffer a brain bleed, which resolved afterward. Brain hemorrhages can manifest in developmental delays as children age. It is unclear what that will mean for Jackson’s future. However, the Stassis believe he will eventually have a normal development.

“We’ve heard too many doctors say something’s going to be wrong,” Gaby said, “and they’ve been wrong every time.”

Jackson was intubated on a ventilator for his first six months as a result of his BPD (Bronchopulmonary Dysplasia), a respiratory condition. Holding their child required the assistance of multiple doctors, including a respiratory therapist.

He still needs to utilize a tracheal tube for most of the day, to assist his breathing. The expectation is that he’ll need it until he’s around 2 years old. He used a gastrostomy tube in his belly, which fed him. He still has it, but the family mostly feeds him orally now.

“Your heart is just so broken that he has to go through that,” Stassi said. “There’s always a piece of me — you just want the best for your kids. To see what he had to go through on a daily basis, my heart just hurt. It was one of the worst feelings ever.”

Gaby added they never asked the doctors about Jackson’s chance of survival, because they didn’t want to hear the answer.

Even though that question wasn’t often brought up, just about everything else was discussed. Their plan was to keep asking questions until everything made sense. But gaining any level of certainty was difficult; So much of the information relayed to Max and Gaby was about potential risks and negative outcomes. They found themselves trying to read the tone in a doctor’s voice, searching for concrete answers.

One time, however, a junior doctor broke protocol in a very welcomed way. It was a few weeks into Jackson’s NICU stay; he told the Stassis that, at some point, their son would go home.

They developed relationships with other parents in the NICU. Dealing with this trauma fostered a sense of community.

“It was very lucky to have another couple going through the exact same thing,” said Katie Harris, who had twin daughters in the NICU at the same time as Jackson, and whose family became close with the Stassis. “I think being able to (discuss) medical terms with somebody that is going through the exact same thing is really unique but extremely comforting.”

They still keep in touch with the friends they made, keeping them abreast of milestones hit as Jackson improves. He’s able to eat without the tube. He spends much of the day breathing on his own. There are still weekly doctor’s appointments. They still have to change out his trach once a week, and make daily changes to the tie around his neck that keeps the trach in place. They do physical therapy, which involves rolling around a large inflatable ball.

It’s not easy, and it took hours of extensive training to prepare for this new reality. But the family has established some semblance of a routine.

“I always had a feeling he was going to make it out of the NICU and come home with us,” Max said. “I always had that gut feeling.”

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Stassi would start his day at the hospital, because doctors’ daily rounds gave them an opportunity to talk about Jackson. Then he would go to rehab. Then he went to work out. Then, eventually, he’d go hit. But 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. was always blocked off for father-son time.

He would talk to his baby. He’d stick his hands into the incubator to touch him. Sometimes he’d pull up the Angels game on his phone, and watch while eating a protein bar from the hospital cafeteria.

Stassi hadn’t lived through a summer without baseball. He made his MLB debut 10 seasons ago with the Astros, and later developed into a start with the Angels. He had an OPS of .784 over the 2020 and 2021 seasons, and is known for his excellent pitch framing.

Last summer was the first since he could remember that wasn’t defined by showing up to ballparks every day and meticulously going through pitching plans. If Max’s hip hadn’t been injured, it would have taken an even stronger emotional toll to not be behind the plate.

He heard from nearly all of his Angels teammates and coaches. Everyone from Mike Trout to Ippei Mizuhara, Shohei Ohtani’s interpreter. Angels second baseman Brandon Drury checked in this week. Stassi was particularly grateful for then-manager Phil Nevin, who reached out frequently.

Everyone understood that his presence on the field was far less important than his presence for his family.

“I just couldn’t leave my family really,” Stassi said. “Obviously (Jackson’s) situation was No. 1. … I needed to be there to learn about all the care that he needed.”

Stassi searched online for articles about people going through similar situations. He wanted something to inspire him, to give him hope that he too would have a success story to tell one day.

He read a 2020 ESPN article about outfielder A.J. Pollock, whose daughter was born at just one pound, six ounces. He found a 2015 piece from SportsNet in Canada telling the story of Angels teammate Aaron Loup’s son Wyatt, born at 26 weeks and two pounds, two ounces. Both players became resources for Stassi.

Stassi was placed on the IL for the first five months of the season, allowing him to be paid the majority of the $7 million he was owed. His hip issues were long in the past by September, but he went on the restricted list that month as the Angels tried to get below the luxury tax. He did not consider returning with Jackson’s situation still so tenuous.

“We were both so exhausted every single day,” Stassi said. “From the stress, the depression, the anxiety. All of the above. We would both take naps, two hours a day. It’s because your mind doesn’t stop. You’re just constantly thinking about him, or what’s next, or if he’s going to be OK.”

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Jackson isn’t much of a crier. Every once in a while he’ll wail if he needs something, but for the most part, his noises barely register above a coo or a giggle. At nine months old, Jackson isn’t old enough to understand or internalize what he’s been through. But his demeanor feels reflective of the toughness he’s shown in his young life.

So often in his first touch-and-go months, doctors relayed risks and potential complications, hurdles he’d need to overcome. The prospect of a long and healthy life was once unlikely.

But now he sat in the lap of his nanny, Courtney, and then each of his parents, silently looking up at them.

“We’re really curious to see how this experience — he won’t remember it, but it’s ingrained in him,” Gaby said. “It’s going to present itself somehow.”

A loud beeping permeated the Stassi home amid the interview. Jackson wears a monitor when he sleeps that measures his heart rate and oxygenation. If those drops, the beeping goes off. But, this time — as has often been the case — the sensitive sensor will beep simply because Jackson repositioned himself in his crib.

Nine months into Jackson’s life, there is a semblance of normalcy in the Stassis’ lives. They were able to move from Chicago to California, ironically, just in time for Stassi to be traded to the White Sox.

Gaby left her job to be a full-time mom. She takes Jackson to his appointments, and works with the nanny on being there for her son. Someday, they hope to give Jackson some siblings. Down the road, Gaby wants to restart her career. But for now, “this is where we’re meant to be,” Gaby said.

When Max flies to Chicago from Phoenix in March, it won’t be anything like the panicked flight he took a year prior.

That was the start of a pause in his career, an abrupt halt, at a moment when anything on the field felt unimportant. This trip will signal its resumption — now with a new meaning attached.

At some point this season, Jackson will come to a game and watch his dad take the field. Beyond that, Stassi hopes to extend his career as long as he can. Not for himself. But because he wants Jackson to see him play and understand what he’s seeing, and what it means.

Stassi left baseball last year to take care of the son that needed him. Now, he’s gotten his career back, and with it, purpose.

“It’s going to mean everything,” Stassi said. “To have him in the stands, that will be emotional. But I want him to be able to be with his dad at the field. That’s the coolest thing ever. He’s my motivation to keep going and keep working hard.”

(Top photo of Max, Jackson and Gaby Stassi: Madison Lauren / Madison Lauren Photography)