I have a Feeling ...

that Baby Emma is going to be a picky eater. She just got to full-feeds ... again ... and now ... feeds stopped, antibiotics back on, X-rays round the clock, blood work, blood work, and more blood work. And here I sit, alone, in the Ronald McDonald House - waiting, praying, waiting, praying. She may very well need surgery in the next 24 hours, to remove part of her intestine. I knew this was a possibility, I knew the dreaded phone call - the one in which the doctor says, "I think you had better come down here" - was a distinct possibility. But when it actually came ... when it actually came ... well, it actually came.

There is no food or drink allowed in the rooms here, But I have not eaten in many, many hours, and going to the communal dining room is just not something I can do at this point. So I am illicitly drinking an iced tea whilst eating some chips and a candy bar - how is that for nutrition. I am feeling slightly naughty, while at the same time carelessly flaunting the rules. This place is beautiful, and I pledge nary a chip crumb will fall.

During shift change, the nurses on the NICU unit ask all parents to leave the unit for the 45-minutes during which they "give report". I had the pleasure of sharing the waiting room with two young "couples". I use that term loosely because there was not much "couple"-like between them, except the "coupling" one girl (dressed as if she were going on a date to a sleazy bar than visiting a critically ill infant) was trying to accomplish as she teased and repeatedly tempted her partner. He checked his voice mail and text messages constantly, apparently because, "Hey, Baby, the girls want me". Of the other youngsters in the room, the male watched The Simpsons, and the female was checking out her My Space page.

My question is, do they realize the severity of the situation at hand? I am assuming each couple had a critically ill or just very premature infant in the unit. How can they be so ... words fail me. I cannot describe with sufficient accuracy the lack of concern in their demeanor. Perhaps it is my short-coming, a failure to understand the difference in socio-economic circumstances that leads one to handle crisis situations with more ... aplomb?! For me, I just keep praying that I am worthy enough for Emma after all that she has gone through, each needle-stick, every X-ray to check the position of the tube shoved down her throat, the hole in her septum from the tube that was in there, every time they have cut into that tiny body and it has caused her the slightest discomfiture. Will I be good enough for her? Will our home life make up for many weeks, months, possibly more that she will spend on oxygen, with a compromised immune system and lungs that are diseased so early in life?

The next 24- to 48-hours are critical. But then, so is the rest of her life. So, put your hair up, dab on some rouge, show some cleavage ... But if and when Baby makes it out of the NICU - and hundreds of thousands of dollars have brought her from the threshold of death to the threshold of your humble abode - are YOU worthy of midnight feedings, colic, RSV, and the host of other threats that Baby will encounter easily within the first few months at home? I sure hope I am.