As we approached Christmas, we had a lot to be grateful for. My clots hadn’t caused any further issues, other than that the Warfarin (pills) was taking a while to work. I, (not a needle person), was having to self inject every morning. It generally took me 10-15 minutes to accomplish the job after numerous failed attempts, and it didn’t help that it stung so much. At those moments, I was acutely aware that Audrey was facing daily needle pricks into her tiny heel.
Audrey was stable and still on CPAP. She was having spells, but we were told she would eventually grow out of them. On the rollercoaster, she was having mostly up days and we were starting to think of the day when she would be moved to a Level II nursery. We were relieved, full of hope, and incredibly proud of her for doing so well.
At the same time, we watched families around us grappling with so much more. From Audrey’s bedside in front of the nurses station, I could read the board with babies expected soon, some of them earlier than Audrey. And we were also beside a separate room, usually used by the doctors. But one day there was, instead, an isolette. And later, a devastated family.
So we faced Christmas with a mix of emotions. Geoff was singing at our church for Christmas Eve. I sat alone, in tears for most of the service. We had gone to a baby store and done a twenty minute shop for gifts for our little girl. We wrapped them and brought them to the hospital early in Christmas morning. There, the nurses had created a stocking for her, and it had a few little gifts inside, including a photo of Audrey, wearing the smallest Santa hat ever.