House of thirty-something flavors? Let's hope not.

Dear Madeline,

Apparently, Mom and I are awful, awful parents. Doctor Obvious swept in to rescue us from our terrible and misguided ways yesterday by informing us that you really should be eating. I want you to live life unjaded by morons like this guy, so I'll spare you what I really thought about that guy and instead say that I was a little frustrated by the remark.

That remark, though, does mirror our concern for you. The doctors won't let you go home until you eat and poop normally. Sweet pea, we want nothing more than to unhook you from all of these tubes and machines and to take you home where you belong. 

Storm Clouds and the Silver Lining

Dear Madeline,

I know not where to begin. Your suffering today was immense and I was unable to do a thing to help you beyond holding you in my arms. I can't say I've ever felt so impotent and so emotionally shredded in my life. We can only guess what could be causing you such agony today. Is it your port site? You've had some bleeding from the incision area around it, but the port itself is fully functioning. Your primary incision seems to be healing nicely and not causing you much grief. Could you be starving? You've refused any form of bottle for about a week, though the use of pieces of medical equipment looking like a bottle has resulted in tears, so maybe you've justly developed a fear of the bottle?

I took a few walks today to try to collect myself, said many prayers and shed more than a few tears for you. I've been struggling to figure out what this all means, wishing I could see what God has intended as a result of your suffering today. I trust that His plan will unfold and be revealed in time. I can say though that I saw a small sign that God has heard my prayers, even if the action plan for answering them is still developing.

A Peak for Every Valley, and Vice-Versa

Dear Madeline,

After such a challenging night last night, you really bounced back today in a major way. The surgical team removed your NG tube during morning rounds. This made you so happy that you threw up. Ok, you were happy after that. You sat up quite a bit today, you were interested in playing with toys, you enjoyed being in my arms, and your long-absent smile returned. It was a great morning!

With no tube going through your nose, there was also no reason to keep your arms and hands restrained. Or so we thought. With nothing left to disturb you in your face, you turned your attention to the infusaport that was implanted in your chest during your surgery on Sunday. And apparently you want that out too since it seems that you keep digging at it. Twice today we have discovered bleeding at the site. Miss Madeline, of all the things to preserve for this hospital stay, this is the most vital.  We cannot let you rip this out, the port is how you will receive the medicine that will ultimately save your life.  We're praying that this be preserved without further damage, which means praying that you leave it alone. I can only imagine what you might do once the chemotherapy drugs start coursing through your system after getting them via the port.

This really suctions

Dear Madeline,

It's been a full week since you were admitted to Hopkins Hospital   You've had some ups and downs, but I guess that's the way it goes for cancer survivors and I need to learn to expect and accept them both.  Your ups and downs lately seem to center around this darned NG tube.  You did well with it last night and all day today.  Your only major gripe today is that you wanted to be held... a lot.  No one here would refuse to meet that demand. 

You've had another rough couple of hours, though.  As the day wore on and the afternoon began to surrender to the evening, you became vocally agitated.  After giving you a few boosts of your pain meds, we ruled out pain as the reason.  It wasn't too loud or too bright, and you were otherwise cozy in my arms.  Then you kicked that cry in, the one that says "I'm so hungry!! What's a gal got to do to get a meal around here?"