Every Thursday I look back at a specific day and time that was spent with my daughter Matilda as she waited for, received, and recovered from a liver transplant. She was in the hospital for 72 days and we remained in NYC until she turned four months old.
November 3rd, 2012 - my baby just had a transplant
My baby just had a transplant.
That night and into the morning, I sat near Matilda listening to the beeps and alarms on her monitor and respiratior sing quietly but never change rhythm, I found myself in shock and disbelief.
My baby just had a transplant.
Really, the whole idea of it was absurd. How did this all
happen? She was only six weeks old. Never in a million years would I have
predicted this.
My baby just had a transplant.
I didn’t know how to sit and be still without the heavy prospect of
death on my shoulders. Now he just sat across the hall somewhere in the
distance
My baby just had a transplant.
I have to admit that sometimes I was able to muster up an
incredible amount of hope and love in spite of death's prospect. In spite of the situation
we were in. In spite of the ache and sorrow that it tempted to bring.
My baby just had a transplant.
I whispered it over and over to myself as if to break the
ice with this new life we would live post-transpant. I whispered it to somehow
wake myself from its disbelief. I whispered it to myself because time had been moving so slowly, but now it felt like everything had happened a lifetime ago. And then it hit me.
My baby just had a transplant.
