Remember this post from a last week? I'm writing to you from there again.
My level of frustration is at it's peak today. Like, mountain climbers want to sit atop it's summit, it's so high.
She was pulled off feeds again and put on TPN. I hate it when she can't eat. I really hate TPN and the liver damaging green pall it casts over her tiny body.
They tried eight times to get an IV in because she's been stuck so much that her veins have begun collapsing. On the sixth try her vein blew so badly that the nurse hastily pressed a towel to it and asked me to apply pressure while she went for help.
I stood stock still holding her makeshift tourniquet, praying that I was applying enough pressure to stop the bleeding that had run down the front of the crib.
Today? Today was long. And answerless. And frustrating. And the same as nearly one hundred before it.
But she smiled at me today and, for the time she held my tortured gaze, poured joy into my broken heart.
