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Bear with me... a little post-therapy.

I think I'm a little raw today. Don't know if it's because she seems to be a little puffy above her neck incision, a funny click as she swallows while binking or maybe the two times that her oxygen dipped low enough to get her Pulse-Ox monitor beeping as she fell asleep for her nap just now. Maybe it was that I experienced changing her Gastrostomy tube bandaging this afternoon for the first time myself.

I can do this, the G-tube thingy. But I won't kid you, nightmarish is the term that I have for it in my heart. I get to party old-school-nightmare-style with the Pearl girl twice a day for the next two weeks till the G-tube site heals. Then about three times a week, or as necessary. Hopefully I will get to a place where it does not sear holes in my heart every time we do it.

Don't get me wrong. I'm going to be very good at it. I am already careful, firm and thorough. I pretend that I am a nurse and that she is my patient, not my screaming babygirl.

And I just keep thinking that it takes a very special breed of human to work in a place like this. A special strength to do what must be done.

I feel myself already starting to bend and change with this experience. I am open to what I must become to survive this. We're gonna make it, but it hurts.

I went into the giftshop just now to see if I could find some little girl rubberbands or hair-doodads. They didn't, but as I looked at all the carefully displayed items that they had, I noticed that it was all so attractive. Enticing and useful things like funny, brightly colored kids socks that come by packs of three socks; all three differently patterned and mismatched. Cute lipglosses. Sweet little toys for babies, and lovely hand creams for moms next to children's books and funky wristwatches. I thought about getting some lipglosses to give to Birdie and LaLa the next time they came to visit. I started crying and couldn't stop. I paid my dollar for the small pair of nail clippers I had in my hand and fled that little oasis of cheer. No one commented on the tears, most people have a way of looking to the side to give those who are crying a little bit of privacy. I am grateful for that.

I am starting to understand an interesting array of things that I never before cared to even think about. And as much as it galls me to expose myself in this way, it has to be done or I will fold in on myself till I can't go anymore.

I want to thank you for your thoughts and prayers. I read it in your comments, and know it from the knowledge I have of you and your lives from your blogs and past conversations. You buoy me up. Thank You.