quick update

at 5:30 this morning I woke up to find policeman standing in the living room of The Aunt and The Uncle's house. Walking up the stairs I remember an "oh no!!" slipping out of my mouth, and shortly thereafter dissolving in a puddle of tears. Jackie was laying on the couch, in a full blown seizure making a sound as if she was clearing her throat. A few minutes later the paramedics showed up and began taking her vitals. I lost it all over again, when one of them looked shocked at the response to the standard "How long has she been like this??" The answer: "30 minutes". As they got ready to take her away, I leaned down, touched her head noticed that her lips were blue.

It's really hard not to freak out in moments like this.

The last time this happened, we were really close to losing her. This time didn't seem as bad, but then details of what was happening at the hospital would slip out "...did he tell you that she stopped breathing?" Not panicking for me, wasn't really an option. The strange thing though was that I seemed to flip between the two. Falling apart, and then making coffee. Incapable of finding words because the words are directed at a crying 11 year old, and then starting a load of laundry. I think you move because you have to. Because it brings logic, and normalcy to a time that is anything but. So at 7 in the morning I sat there with my coffee, wondering if it was an inappropriate hour to have a drink. All day I found myself doing stupidly mundane tasks - laundry, cleaning, running the kids to practice, cooking, making paper snowflakes... I wanted to feel something other than helplessness. I don't think I succeeded at all. I came last night because I'd missed her since I moved to Brooklyn. I came so that I could cuddle with her, and remind her what I looked like. I held her 24hrs ago, and didn't see this coming at all.

She's still in the ICU, and probably will be until monday. The good news is she's stable, and will hopefully stay that way.

To everyone that threw up prayers on Jackie's behalf, thank you so much. It means alot.

What. The. Fug.

My dad didn’t seem especially sympathetic when I exclaimed on the telephone “It’s BRASS paint that they DRIPPED everywhere”. He quite logically pointed out that this is NY, and therefore unless you’re living in monstrosities like thisaone, there’s bound to be 10 coats of paint on everything.

Which is all good and fine, and probably very true. In all fairness to him, quite likely, me complaining about my really friggin’ fugly apartment fixtures is sort of like the skinniest girl in the room casually mentioning that her New Year’s resolution is to “go on a diet!!” and get “really, really fit!!” saying it with such seriousness, that you want to wallup her and simultaneously shove a burrito down her throat. In other words, it’s annoying. That being said, the slightly obsessive part of me is still very much obsessing about how I can remedy the affront that is brass paint. Lo, the "before" and "after" photos.I've decided that I won't bother with the door jambs, or door handles. The light switches, outlets, and lighting fixtures however, should probably fear for their lives.

To the former occupant of 1R:

Somehow, though your reasoning dumbfounds me, you managed to paint every surface including, but not limited to the door jambs, light switches, outlets, coat hooks, door knobs, and light fixtures in a tacky bronze metallic paint. Not once, but apparently multiple times, so that removing said light switches, outlets, and coat hooks required raw determination and the strength of a friggin’ Viking (thankfully, I have both). Anyway, I just wanted to drop you a line and say thank you for your unbelievably thorough display of bad taste.

-s-

on jackie

If you look at the pictures below, the one with the kid rocking a pumpkin outfit, you wouldn’t know. For instance, you wouldn’t know that in spite of appearances she’s not 3 months, she’s a year. You wouldn’t know that she’s had a really hard year, one like most of us thank God, have never had to endure. You also wouldn’t know that her parents astound me. They’re relentless in their faith. The family, collectively, treasures this little person more than I’ve seen anywhere else. Ever. You wouldn’t see us taking turns holding her, celebrating every minute victory (she gained 8oz!), or what happens to our insides when we realize that in spite of everything, she is, and will probably remain, really fragile. A few weeks ago, she dislocated her elbow. It was just her arm, not anything especially scary or traumatic. But she was helpless, and hurting, and she’s already been through so much. So we stood there, and cried along with her while the doctor popped it back into place.

I haven’t managed to give up on the hope that I’ll get to watch her grow up, even if statistically, the odds aren’t in her favor. This is my own form of denial, one that I’ll keep on living in, until circumstances force me out of it. I want her to have a future, even if that future looks dramatically different than I would’ve hoped for when I initially heard that baby #5 was on the way. The whole situation… the realization of just how much you can love someone and yet have no control over whether or not they stay or go, is both incredible and heartbreaking.