1 am
I kept asking every doctor, nurse, attending, fellow, respiratory therapist, “will she really not be able to breath without the respirator?” Hoping each would give me a different answer. None did. I feel the rollercoaster of hope climbing with each passing hour, Katelynn could surprise us, but then she lays here still recovering septic, medicated, machines and transfusions keeping her alive-- I can still see her as she was last night, the pain she was in, the platelets, her bleeding and find my own strength far gone months ago and know that God still holds me, I remind myself of the eternities. I hold her hand, Katelynn squeezed back—she is still fighting. My little girl so physically cheated by her body has the soul of God. She reminds me, rejuvenates me, and I can’t imagine life without her, as I can’t without any of my children. I want Katelynn to talk to me and tell me what she wants. We don’t want her to suffer any more but I am too selfish to utter the words, to let her go. Is she here until I can accept the Father’s will? She is teaching me, she teaches us all and I am thankful to be her mother and afraid of my own weakness. I am once again trying to find sleep in exhaustion— the twin bed of the parent sleep rooms, they really should move these into the rooms of the patients—I would then not have to fight the temptation to go be with her, it is good to be close.