When It Is Just Not Meant To Be ...

Emma ... Emma .... Emma is sick ... again. There is a surreal quality to those words, one I just cannot seem to wrap my brain around. How? How is it possible that, for a fourth time, the baby who was so close to coming home is, once again, lying naked on a warming bed, being fed only TPN, and undergoing X-rays and other diagnostic tests round the clock? The prognosis at this point is poor, involving many months of rest for her intestines, one more chance at feeding with the most basic of formulas, and the possibility of a small bowel and liver transplant somewhere around the age of 1 1/2. The doctor speaks of "growing" her, getting her stronger and bigger on the TPN, while resting her bowels, and hoping they regenerate in the months - months - to come.

It is funny - the doctor speaks of "growing'' her and here I was hoping to "raise" her.