24

A roller coaster is a perfect, if overused metaphor for our lives right now. So I was thinking of describing it as a wringer, or perhaps a washing machine, where we're alternately cleansed in warm, soapy goodness, then spun with heart-straining vigor.

All to say, in the last 24 hours or so, we've celebrated the fact that Will took a 15cc bottle on his first attempt, which is more than a minor miracle, with his cleft lip and palate and the long list of negative oral stimulation which he's endured over the past six weeks. We found out that he had been sprung from his oxygen tent and switched to a nice nasal canula. We had a great time working on the yard, and our apartment, and several projects, with ourselves and the Nana and the Sharps jumping in to an orgy of collaboration and productivity that left our small place feeling twice as big. We got everyone cleaned up and hurried to the hospital to spend the afternoon holding the boy. We started hearing talk of an imminent move from the ICU to the 'regular' hospital, which gave us great joy and great fear, simultaneously. We watched with concern as his heart rates and SATs dipped into low areas, until they put him back in his tent. Yet all the while, he looked great. We tore ourselves away to go and see a bunch of wonderful friends and hear a cool house show full of songs that are the soundtrack of our lives, and then we got word that Will's troubles were due to a partially collapsed left lung. We said goodbye to our dear friends the Sharps, and wondered when we'd see them again. I sobbed all the way back to the hospital with the accumulation of joy and heartbreak of the whole day. We arrived at the hospital to see a boy who was doing really well, and looking even better. We stayed with him for a few more hours, giving him some love and chest treatment (basically patting him on the chest to loosen up any fluids) and watching videos on my father's day present (when you're only five pounds, an iPod is a big-screen TV!). Later, I stood in the hallway with a sca-reaming Ella, and I looked down over the atrium as a lady danced with a vacuum cleaner (this made me cry with joy, and I told her so later). We finally went home, where we all got something to eat and went to bed at 3. This morning, we heard that Will was happy and awake nearly all night, and that his morning chest x-ray showed improvement of his lung. He'll be re-starting his feeds today (they stopped them with the scare yesterday) and continuing with his chest treatments. Now, we're putting together the big push to get out the door and get over there, where we can see Will again and feel guilty that we don't spend more time with him.