Well, after talking confidently about taking Matilda out of the house, she got sick again. She has been cold free for one week (speaking generously) since returning from Montana in August. The worry, the frustration, and the anxiety is nonstop. I lie awake at night listening to her breathe, I get up to check on her, I panic just thinking about RSV, pneumonia, or whatever new strain of who knows what is going around. Last night, as she asked for juice in the midst of a two-hour cry session, I added diabetes, kidney failure, and cancer to my list of concerns. All are of increased risk in transplant patients.
You see how easy it is to tip over to the side of crazy? Good thing Tyler is rational, practical, and straight forward. He tries his best to nudge me back over. Matilda is fine. She is more than fine. She is alive.
Thing is, she doesn't seem to mind being sick. Or maybe to her it's just normal. Either way, she is a spitfire. During the day, she runs around like nothing is wrong. She insists on picking out her clothes (she looks for the same shirt everyday, which means dumping everything else on the floor), she bugs her brother, and she laughs. Oh, does she laugh. At night she sneaks into our room, climbs into our bed without waking us up, and rests her head on my chest.
Matilda is perfect, she is happy, and her zest for life is unmistakable. I just wish that she didn't have to be sick all the time.
