It's not in my damn stomach.
It's not in my frail, aging hands.
It's not in my house. Clearly.
It is probably not even in my city.
Because I just called and they haven't even STARTED the order yet.
And it'll take just long enough that I have to eat my last thing of Easy Mac to prevent myself from collapsing due to low blood sugar.
And then I won't even want pizza.
Is this what my life has been reduced to?
After about 40 minutes one of the midwives came in and talked with us. She said our baby was in the NICU. They had her breathing again on a respirator, but she was having constant seizures.
They took us down to the NICU, which I saw stood for neonatal intensive-care unit, and made us scrub our hands with a special type of sealed sponge to make sure we weren't bringing bacteria in. I had to take off my wedding ring.
When they took me over to her, she had tubes in her mouth, tubes in her stomach, a respirator in her nose, pins in her brain... but all I noticed were her beautiful eyes.
And I'm staring at this thing, this beautiful little thing, not wondering what was wrong, or what would happen next, but "how did we make something so beautiful?"
They have her on some special experimental treatment where they chill her brain to prevent damage from the seizures. Probably expensive.
Every time I go to see her, she looks a little more like a normal baby. Her color changes, her hands move more. Her arms still shake.
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