I received a call from Emma's doctor yesterday. She is the new attending, this habit of changing doctors every three weeks only serving to add to my sense of uncertainty. I had asked for clarification that we are indeed going to follow the "plan", that which was agreed upon in the conference room many weeks ago. Because, as has happened before, it is not unheard of for the new attending to decide, "Now we are going to do things my way," which could result in drastic consequences for Emma. As usual, my heart started to race when the number for St. Chris appeared on my phone. The doctor let me know right away that Emma was fine, but my heart beat took awhile to receive the message. She reassured me that the treatment plan was unchanged, and that formula fortifier was not to be used at this point. But she stressed that Emma is only one-third of the way to full feeds. One-third? I thought - nay, I hoped, I prayed, I inwardly pleaded and willed it to be - she had done her math wrong, that somehow she miscalculated. The nurse told me, on Sunday, Emma was one-half of the way there - 1/2, as in 21 more days from Sunday, as in 19 more days from today. The difference between 1/2 and 1/3 is huge. One-third means 44 more days of this, more than twice what 1/2 means. The road which led us to right before Christmas, suddenly stretches to the new year. It means trips to Philly through snow and ice, freezing temps and inclement conditions. Just as I was hoping to share our fall trips to the park with my little one, I was so hoping to avoid winter driving to the hospital. Emma is the little golden ring just beyond my reach - each time I believe she is within my grasp, she is pulled just that much further away, dangling, waiting for me to try again. I won't stop trying, of course - but it certainly weighs heavy on my soul.
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