Heartbreak

A baby died in the ICN today.
His name was Raul, and he was no more than a day or two old.
As his parents and family members wailed, he went back to the spirit world.

I watched his father walk hunched over, crying tears the depth of which I pray I will never know.
We are not made strong enough to outlive our children without being marked for life.
No matter how young or old the child is.

Just behind the father, a young man - an uncle perhaps - carried Raul in a bundle of blankets just minutes after he passed.
Out of the ICN, I assumed to a room where the rest of his family waited.
I have never seen or felt death so close, not even after more than 5 weeks in the ICN.

Stephanie the social worker was a rock today.
She held Raul's family.
She held the other parents in the ICN, like me and Dave, who witnessed all the sorrow.
She held Sue, Raul's nurse, a rock of a woman who has clearly been a nurse for decades, whose eyes were red from tears.

Another Sue, one of the respiratory therapists, was near the end of her rope today from darting around all day to take care of the breathing of so many babies in critical condition.
Robin, today's charge nurse, was solid as a rock, calm, serious, present for all who needed her.
She told me that not only is the ICN almost full, but there is really high acuity - that means most of the babies are in critical or chronic need.

Today I hated it there.
I wanted so much to take Tikva home with me.

Yet amid this horrible grief, this crazy intense chaos, we received a blessing:
Tikva was going to be moved again, this time to her very own private room.
Calm, quiet, peace, and the beeping of only her monitor and nobody else's.
She's starting on a new breathing treatment for her pulmonary hypertension, and the treatment can cause a rash.
Any baby with a rash needs to be isolated, even if it isn't contagious.

Incredible relief.
A chance for Tikva - and all of us - to get some space, some serenity.
A quiet place where she can do the incredibly deep healing she is so completely engaged in right now.
A break from witnessing every second the intensity of the ICN.
A break from seeing the faces of all the other parents all day long.

I am completely unable to not connect in some part of my heart to what is around me.
To do so, I would have to turn off my compassion, and that is physically impossible for me.
Perhaps God knows that, and decided that a little isolation would do me good along with Tikva.

When we got Tikva settled in her new space, she was still agitated and having a hard time settling down.
I thought about what Allyson would do for Tikva, and suggested to her nurse that maybe she could use a dose of Adavan to calm her and help her get much needed sleep.
When another nurse brought the Adavan, I asked her if she might have an extra dose for me.

Dave wrote on his blog about today... Check out the videos there too, to get a sense of what our days are like in the ICN.

Maybe today won't be the day when I stop eating chocolate on a daily basis.
I was going to start today, substitute fruit for chocolate.
But several times, as I passed one of Raul's many family members in the hallway, I felt drawn to the little Crunch bars in the candy bowl in Stephanie's office.
And when I got home today, I realized that chocolate may be my saving grace.
I don't think I will get through this experience without chocolate.
I am completely serious.

I took the N Judah home for the first time today because Dave left several hours before me to get Dahlia from school.
It took 25 minutes to arrive at the bus stop, where I sat in a scarf and hat and sweater because in July in that part of San Francisco it's cold.
When it arrived, it was packed with people coming home after a long week.
I felt numb, unable to connect with what I was feeling about today.
The bus driver was a gem, making funny announcements over the loudspeaker to relieve stress on the crowded bus.
When we got to the stop on the corner where our house is, I smiled and wished him a good night, and he did the same.

Be nice to each other out there.
Really nice.
Kiss your children, kiss your loved ones, smile at strangers.
Life is so fragile, and so precious.
Way too short to waste complaining.
Way too special to expend energy being hard on ourselves or each other.

Love and hope and faith.
On days like today - and I pray I never have another day like it - these are what hold me together.