Dear JoAnn
My love.
I know that you like to check this blog just like everyone else, so I'm posting this personal message here for everyone to see and read. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed in any way to share publicly how I feel about you (of course, I'm going to leave out some of the mushy stuff - watch your e-mail!)
It was great to see Nanette move to the butterfly section. With her chest tube out she's going to heal fast and I'll bet you'll be able to hold her in your arms tomorrow.
That last walk from the NICU to the Ronald McDonald House was tough. I felt as if I was leaving a safe place. I've been there so long, and yet it still feels like April 11th to me sometimes. I know every picture on the wall between the NICU and the elevator. I can hit the buttons without looking. The stain on the carpet in the elevator on the right happened a few nights ago (I think someone must have thrown up there.) We've seen the atrium go from barren to filled with Easter decorations to barren again and then to the job fair with all the high school kids chatting and bustling and then back to barren. We've heard our footsteps echo off those high walls and glass ceilings a thousand times, and a thousand times we've crossed that intersection where Graham meets Commercial and walked down that hill, across the oncology parking lot, past the azaleas still hibernating and across the pavers to the front door of the House. It's almost like a whole lifetime passed in these twelve days. I guess it is a lifetime for Nanette.
Katie and Carter and I stopped only twice, in The Dalles and then again in Umatilla. We got home at about six and then walked to the park to stretch our legs. The kids refused to get back in the van after driving for five hours, but Tabitha and Madaline volunteered to watch them while I went to the store.
I'd like to tell you that we're all fine, but I won't lie. We miss you. I tucked Carter in at about eight and then stuck my head in to check on Katie. She wasn't in her bed. I found her on the floor. She said she didn't want to be comfortable because she was mad at me. I got her in bed and she started crying. She missed you so bad she couldn't stop sobbing. I calmed her down and we went through The Amazing Body book for a while. I couldn't find a picture of the diaphragm, but Katie found it and pointed it out to me.
"Duh," she said. How can a six year old read a word like diaphragm? I can hardly spell it.
By the time I got her settled in, Carter was conked out.
I've been up doing nothing. I ate chips and ice cream for dinner (even though I bought carrot sticks and a pork loin at Albertsons.) Sorry about that. I know I promised to eat healthy. Why is it always more lonely to be home? Shouldn't home be the sanctuary? The safe place? Or, does the empty shell of home just accentuate the missing piece. I can't bring myself to turn down the covers on our bed, and looking in the nursery just makes my heart ache. I long to hear Nanette's little cry coming from that room. "Bah, bah, bah." It makes me smile just to think about it. She sounds like a litte lamb. I wonder if she'll really howl once her throat is better and her lungs are strong, or if she'll always just have that sweet bleating sound.
Ah, well. It will be a horrible week. I know that is a negative attitude, but I might as well face it. You are the heart of this family.
I'm really glad Josie is back in town. She'll be much help, and love and support continues to pour in from everywhere, like the way Dan and Tabitha helped with the lawn and the kids. But, still there is nothing that can replace having you here.
[here is where the gushy, mushy love stuff has been omitted]
We love you. We love Nanette. Our prayers are with you both. Be strong there, and we'll be strong here. The three of us make a good team. We somehow managed to make it through last Easter's tribulations with Grams. Besides, we have lots of chips and ice cream. (Um, actually, I think I ate most of the ice cream...)
It's almost tomorrow, so I better post this and get to bed.
May the day bring you blessings, love, peace and health
Joe, Katie and Carter
I know that you like to check this blog just like everyone else, so I'm posting this personal message here for everyone to see and read. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed in any way to share publicly how I feel about you (of course, I'm going to leave out some of the mushy stuff - watch your e-mail!)
It was great to see Nanette move to the butterfly section. With her chest tube out she's going to heal fast and I'll bet you'll be able to hold her in your arms tomorrow.
That last walk from the NICU to the Ronald McDonald House was tough. I felt as if I was leaving a safe place. I've been there so long, and yet it still feels like April 11th to me sometimes. I know every picture on the wall between the NICU and the elevator. I can hit the buttons without looking. The stain on the carpet in the elevator on the right happened a few nights ago (I think someone must have thrown up there.) We've seen the atrium go from barren to filled with Easter decorations to barren again and then to the job fair with all the high school kids chatting and bustling and then back to barren. We've heard our footsteps echo off those high walls and glass ceilings a thousand times, and a thousand times we've crossed that intersection where Graham meets Commercial and walked down that hill, across the oncology parking lot, past the azaleas still hibernating and across the pavers to the front door of the House. It's almost like a whole lifetime passed in these twelve days. I guess it is a lifetime for Nanette.
Katie and Carter and I stopped only twice, in The Dalles and then again in Umatilla. We got home at about six and then walked to the park to stretch our legs. The kids refused to get back in the van after driving for five hours, but Tabitha and Madaline volunteered to watch them while I went to the store.
I'd like to tell you that we're all fine, but I won't lie. We miss you. I tucked Carter in at about eight and then stuck my head in to check on Katie. She wasn't in her bed. I found her on the floor. She said she didn't want to be comfortable because she was mad at me. I got her in bed and she started crying. She missed you so bad she couldn't stop sobbing. I calmed her down and we went through The Amazing Body book for a while. I couldn't find a picture of the diaphragm, but Katie found it and pointed it out to me.
"Duh," she said. How can a six year old read a word like diaphragm? I can hardly spell it.
By the time I got her settled in, Carter was conked out.
I've been up doing nothing. I ate chips and ice cream for dinner (even though I bought carrot sticks and a pork loin at Albertsons.) Sorry about that. I know I promised to eat healthy. Why is it always more lonely to be home? Shouldn't home be the sanctuary? The safe place? Or, does the empty shell of home just accentuate the missing piece. I can't bring myself to turn down the covers on our bed, and looking in the nursery just makes my heart ache. I long to hear Nanette's little cry coming from that room. "Bah, bah, bah." It makes me smile just to think about it. She sounds like a litte lamb. I wonder if she'll really howl once her throat is better and her lungs are strong, or if she'll always just have that sweet bleating sound.
Ah, well. It will be a horrible week. I know that is a negative attitude, but I might as well face it. You are the heart of this family.
I'm really glad Josie is back in town. She'll be much help, and love and support continues to pour in from everywhere, like the way Dan and Tabitha helped with the lawn and the kids. But, still there is nothing that can replace having you here.
[here is where the gushy, mushy love stuff has been omitted]
We love you. We love Nanette. Our prayers are with you both. Be strong there, and we'll be strong here. The three of us make a good team. We somehow managed to make it through last Easter's tribulations with Grams. Besides, we have lots of chips and ice cream. (Um, actually, I think I ate most of the ice cream...)
It's almost tomorrow, so I better post this and get to bed.
May the day bring you blessings, love, peace and health
Joe, Katie and Carter
posted by Joe Cooke @ 4/23/2006 11:21:00 PM
4 Comments:
At 8:56 AM, April 24, 2006,
Anonymous said…
Thank you so much for sharing your experience!
You have a feisty little girl on your hands and I can't wait to meet her.
Dr. Jen
At 8:42 PM, April 24, 2006,
Spider said…
Dear Joe,
I'm intimidated to write to your blog. I have performance anxiety after all your wonderful posts!
Thank you for the wonderful letter (and I enjoyed the mushy one on email too!). It was difficult having you gone today. Thank goodness Angie is still here. This morning I rushed up to Nanette's bed at 8:00am when NICU opened back up so I could be there when the neonatologist and surgeon stopped by. The nurse told me Nanette had had a rough night, very agitated. I was hoping for better news, and wished very much that you were there to console me. The day took a BIG turn for the better later in the morning. The doctor removed Nanette's C-PAP breathing gear and replaced it with a mere oxygen line. You can see her beautiful face and head now! Of course we don't have the digital camera right now so I can't share the new view with you. She coped well without the C-PAP so the nurses sat me in a recliner next to her bed and I got to hold my baby for the first time since her birth. It really felt too wonderful for words. She really loved being held, Joe. She calmed down instantly, snuggled into my arms and stared at my eyes for awhile before falling asleep. I held her for about two hours before I had to get up and eat and pump. She's been calm all day, and I held her again this afternoon. I know you can't wait until you get a turn this weekend.
Tomorrow they may remove her OG tube - a tube that goes down her mouth and into her stomach to remove air and bile and stuff. The next step will be a feeding tube through her nose through which they will send small amounts of milk to see how her digestion is working. Once that goes well, she'll advance to bottle feeding, and then onto the breast. I feel like we've got one foot out the door here and I think Nanette cannot wait to get home.
It won't be the same without you here this week. But I'll keep close tabs on Nanette and look forward to talking to you everyday. Thanks for taking such good care of the kids. You're such a great dad! I miss them terribly and can't wait for your visit this weekend.
I miss you and love you and thank you for being the world's best husband.
Love, JoAnn
At 4:32 PM, April 25, 2006,
Anonymous said…
Joe,
We keep up the prayers.
EP
At 6:10 PM, April 25, 2006,
Anonymous said…
How my heart goes out to each of you. My name is Molly, I am Marietta Lawson's niece. I hope you don't mind her sharing your web address. We have been blessed by it. My husband and I have prayed and ached for each of you as we read your days accounts. It hits close to home as our twins were born at 26 weeks gestation last June and spent 3 months in the NICU. They were intubated, then CPAP, then nasal cannulas, etc. Kaylee had a minor heart surgery and Trey was diagnosed with a major head bleed a week after he was born. Praise God they are now healthy 10 month olds without any problems or complications. Your descriptions of walking the halls and reading about children who have "graduated" from the NICU, Nanette coming off of the morphine, slowly advancing feedings, holding her for the first time (after waiting a very long time), and the like are all so familiar. We keep each of you in our prayers, and especially your precious Nanette. It sounds like she is a fighter and a beautiful little girl. Congratulations on your new daughter that you are finally able to hold her, Joann (and soon you too, Joe).
Please also share with the little tyke who was 3 months early that we were informed our children had a 50% survival rate and an assortment of other discouraging stats. And now you would never know they were premies or had any complications. As they are discovering, those stats are most definitely not a diagnosis.
Congratulations agian. We will continue to watch Nanette's progress and keep your family in our prayers. Thank you for sharing your experience. It is a blessing.
Kindly,
Molly, Marc, Trey and Kaylee Henning
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