Helicopters and Enfa-Coke

Ten days later, after a helicopter ride and a visit from Grammy and Papa, Lily is still in the hospital.  But she's also still making progress.

On Monday, Lily's heart stopped for about six seconds.  It started again on its own, she didn't have any oxygen deprivation, and there seem to be no lingering problems.  But the doctor was concerned enough to have the Life Flight helicopter team, who happened to be on-site just then, fly her to a nearby children's hospital, where there's a very well respected pediatric cardiology team.

In their combined 51 years of life, Lily's parents have taken fewer helicopter rides than she had in her first week.

The cardiologist found Camille and me after we drove across town.  Based on the tests they had run, he said that Lily's heart was in good shape, but that there was a chemical buildup (adenosine) at an important receptor site for electrical currents.  Unfortunately, that meant that her heart would keep slowing to dangerously low rates or even stopping periodically.  Fortunately, it's an easy problem to treat, and it usually goes away after a few rounds of medication.

The funny part is that the best medication for adenosine buildup is caffeine.  I'm not a big caffeine consumer.  I don't drink coffee.  I think Red Bull tastes like someone mixed cherry Kool-Aid and Robitussin with their dog's vomit.

But Coca Cola... well that's different.  I grew up in the South, so I know there's nothing like a nice cold Coke on a hot day.  I also believe that no meal is really complete without a Coke.  Coke Zero and Cherry Coke are acceptable substitutes for the classic, but there's no leaving it out.  I don't rely on it to get up in the morning, but I've been grateful for the boost on road trips.

Now proudly introducing Enfa-Coke!

So when the doc told us that they'd be administering caffeine treatments, all I could think was "Like father, like daughter."  Today I drank a Coke in honor of Lily and her caffeine-spiked milk.

On a more serious note, today a family from out of town came into the NICU berth across from us.  Their little one was very ill.  I recognized a dopamine agonist in the gigantic tower of IV medications, and I overheard the nurses telling the family about some very serious and potentially life-threatening problems.  My heart goes out to that family and their baby.  They're far from home, probably far from loved ones, and fighting an uphill battle.  Send your thoughts and prayers their way, everybody.

And keep sending them to Lily, Camille, and me.  I feel very fortunate that my daughter is so healthy, and that her problems seem to be getting smaller.  I feel very happy and very supported when I think that so many people are thinking and praying for us.  Thanks, everybody.

SuperLily, or caffeine jitters?

Bane the Elephant and Other Unlikely Kids

My daughter's life is a miracle.

Granted, I believe that every life is something of a miracle, and I can see a clear sequence of logical reasons why that miracle happened.  But that doesn't make her life any less miraculous.

My wife Camille had an uneventful pregnancy--she never got seriously sick, and she never complained of some of the other major discomforts of pregnancy.  The doctor kept telling us that everything looked healthy and normal.

Then, yesterday morning, I got a call from Camille.  She never calls me during work hours, so I knew something serious was up.  She was on her way to the doctor because something hurt.  The doctor sent her straight on to the hospital for observation.  When I saw the word hospital in her next message, I knew I had to go.  As I was pulling into the hospital parking lot, her sister (who also happens to be the assistant at Camille's doctor's office) called me to tell me Lily was on her way right then.

Fortunately, the labor and delivery were mostly just like the pregnancy--uneventful.  But there was still the slightly terrifying fact that our baby was about two months early.  We've all heard heart-wrenching stories about families whose babies have been born too early.  The doctor told us that it might be scary for a little while, but that the long-term prognosis was really good, but in a moment like that, all the doctors in the world couldn't make it better.  They've got her on a machine to strengthen her lungs, and a feeding tube.

I was (and still am) more than a little worried about her chances and her future.  But last night we got to sit by her bed.  And this morning we got to help feed her, and this afternoon Camille got to hold her.

So, as I've debated whether Lily's breathing mask makes her look more like Bane or an elephant, I've come to realize that my daughter's life really is a miracle.

Whether or not you believe in God or a higher power of some kind, remember that miracles happen.  Sometimes science can't explain them, and we call them God or chance or bizarre twists of fate.  Other times, we can explain them easily, and we call them cutting-edge technology.  Either way, it's a miracle that Lily was alive this morning when I woke up.  It's a miracle that there are machines and medicines that can make her lungs stronger and feed her.  It's a miracle that so many miraculous things came together to keep Lily healthy.  And it's a miracle that that so many other unlikely lives are so full and happy today.

So Lily, welcome to the world, the family, and all that comes with it.