Tuesday, January 19, 2010


Another quiet day for our girl. Her oxygen is still staying up a little bit, but of course she's still getting over whatever it is she's getting over. The pneumonia/infection/interstitial lung disease (ooh, new fancy term!). The nice thing today? She was finally awake for a while! Dopey, but awake, and reunited with her dear friend Binky.

She's starting to look and act a little more like herself. The sedation is still heavy, and she's still swollen from having been still for so long, but she's getting there.

I have to confess, though, I'm not at all feeling comfortable yet. I don't mean the setting, I mean Jane. She's just so much more fragile to me now than she's ever been before -- almost visibly teetering on the edge of a precipice. It's not clear at all to me whether she's really pulling back from that edge. These last couple of days have certainly helped a bit, but... I guess I'm just holding my metaphorical breath. (An unfortunate metaphor, but I'm sticking with it.)

A couple bits and piece of normalcy for you all to enjoy: I got to take Jane's temp and change her diaper today just like I used to do, thanks to New Awesome Nurse Alyssa. She's got an eye exam sometime this week (really! alas, no former Dr. Brusque and his awkward small talk will be joining us), and Immunology should start to weigh in with some of the results of the many labs they've ordered. Oh, and the effusive Dr R from up north called me at the NICU today! Isn't that wonderful? She'd found out through someone about Jane's pneumonia-or-whatever, and called me directly at the hospital to check in and find out what was going on. She was very relieved to hear about the improvement, and curious about the ventilation, and just generally her enthusiastic self. It was awfully nice.

And I got to meet one of the hospital chaplains today, who rocked. Funny and thoughtful and interesting, and she gasped in all the right places when I told her some of this story. She promised to bring some challah on Friday, so obviously she will forever be known as Awesome Rabbi Susan.

All right, invisible friends of Jane. Bedtime. Oops, no, one last pump first. (The hilarious nurse who is a primary for the baby next to Jane complimented me on my pumping yesterday and cracked up at my bad dairy jokes; I wonder how I can bribe her away from that other kid?)

Thank you for the support and vibes and prayers and everything. I think of the warmth from you all as the quiet breeze gently pushing Jane back from that awful edge. You're helping to hold her safe, and I thank you for that.


Tom said...

Our girl might be fragile--and indeed she is--but look at those eyes? Holy smokes. Sentience, intelligence, skepticism, you name it, has a baby ever held as much in a glance as our girl, Jane?

I look into those eyes and I believe in her. Progress is going to be in baby steps, forgive the pun. Today was better than yesterday, and yesterday was better than the day before. It's a long march.

My bigger concern is your writing. I used to be the novelist in this family. Now I can't hold a candle to your prose. Especially the last paragraph. You are channeling beauty, my dear wife, which shouldn't be a surprise to anyone who knows you. I miss you.

Anonymous said...

You two are such lovely writers and people. What thoughtful parents and so good to keep us all updated regardless of how tiring this must be for you. No wonder Jane's handling everything with such grace. Here's more thoughts to help push Jane back from the edge.

Rachel/tt Vanilla

artandsoul said...

Metaphorical breaths indeed. Tia, how beautifully you express the paradox of loving this beautiful being who is Jane. I wish we could all see the fragility of one another and acknowledge it even a smidge as well as you do about your daughter. She is full of wonder and as Tom says filled with intelligence, sentience and skepticism ... what a girl.

Your love for one another continues to expand and strengthen and envelope her (and us) and breath by breath Jane takes her steps. What a grace to be able to be there with her through your words of love, laughter and hope.

Prayers and warmth and continued wishes of improvement wend their way to you ... and thank you for including us all in your most intimate, loving family journey.

Blowing kisses and prayers from Florida,


Meredith said...

We're with you. Every step of the way. Even from far away.

(Sorry we can't run downstairs to get you a sandwich, though. The vibes aren't quite that strong. But we would if we could.)

Thinking of you all, and of Jane.

Jessica said...

I know which nurse you are talking about! She is a riot!!!! Heck I am trying to talk my team into following us across the hall, LOL! I think my primary Chris has baby sat for Alyssa the other day. And now with us leaving to across the hall you may end up with some of my nurses since they know this same scenerios as of going through it with the Mr Man.
Don't worry, we have been to that same cliff side and jacob came back to us. It's truly scary and if you really need someone to talk to that has been through this please don't hesitate to call me. It's definitely a tough road, and its not pretty to see your little one all drugged up and out of it :-( I definitely feel your pain. The best thing for jane is hearing her mommies voice and feeling her touch. Keep doing what you are doing for the angel and we are all praying for her to heal.

Raspberry said...

Oh, Tom, Tia...the beauty in your words and in the other posts is just making me teary.

What beautiful writers you both are. What souls the words come from.

"Sentience, intelligence, skepticism, you name it, has a baby ever held as much in a glance as our girl...?"

Tom--I know we haven't met, but Jane has become all of our girl.

I hope that's OK.