Twist of Fate...

I have been ill with pneumonia for over one month now. In that time, Emma was taken off the ventilator, weaned from the CPAP, slowly lost dependency on the Vapotherm, and was finally placed on nasal cannula with oxygen at only 21% - essentially, room air. I received such words of encouragement from the hospital staff about how well she was doing, how great she looked, and how she would soon be home. She was being dressed for the first time in her three and one-half months of life, and she was gazing up at the nurses, and she cried her first cries. I spent the past few weeks listening to these reports of progress, and aching to see her for myself - to see her clothed and swaddled like a "real" newborn, to witness the face that lay beneath tape and plastic. Yesterday was the day - the day I was finally well enough to go to her. And as I walked through the NICU doors, a doctor greeted me with, "Are you Emma's mom?", and I knew - I knew without any further words - that something was wrong, that I was not to hold her that day, and that it would not be "soon" that she was coming home.

Emma is sick - again. NEC - again. Her stools were bloody, so they X-rayed and her intestines have air in them - again. Visions of sitting by her side as they re-intubated her filled my head. How can I go through that again - how can she? I wanted to dress her in the tiny clothes I brought from home, the ones I lovingly laundered and folded and placed in the box labelled with her first day of life picture. I did not want to watch as they placed a catheter in her and collected urine specimens, or pricked her heel for blood, or discussed the results of the X-rays. I wanted the healthy Emma, the one who has beaten all odds to still be here.

But this is not about what I want. It is about Emma, and her strength, and the expertise of the physicians and nurses at the hospital. So I spent as much time with her as I could, and had to leave to get back to the other children. And I have called about a dozen times since leaving. While there was some concern last night about viruses, so far there has not been a positive culture. So we wait for the antibiotics to do their job, and for Emma to continue to exhibit the strength and grace that has brought her so far on her journey. She is beautiful and spirited. She has big blue eyes, and a hearty little cry. She remains on the nasal cannula at the moment. I did not get to hold her, but I did get to whisper to her about what awaits her when she finally comes home - the siblings who will vie for her attention, the puppy who will lick her toes and make her giggle, and the crazy relatives who she will have to figure out for herself. Just get better, I said. Just please, please get better.