possibility of another cardiovascular collapse. We’re just not sure how her body will react to what we’ve done to save her this time.”
I burst into tears. “I don’t want her to go through that again. I can’t let them do that to her, Sean.”
The doctor looked stricken. “You might want to consider a DNR. It’s a do not resuscitate order that’s kept in her medical file. It basically says that if something like this occurs again, you don’t want any extraordinary measures taken to revive Willow.”
I had spent the last few weeks of my pregnancy preparing myself for the worst, and as it turned out, it wasn’t anywhere close.
“Just something to think about,” the doctor said.
Maybe, Sean said, she wasn’t meant to be here with us. Maybe this is God’s will.
What about my will? I asked. I want her. I’ve wanted her all along.
He looked up at me, wounded. And you think I haven’t?
Through the window, I could see the slope of the hospital lawn, covered with dazzling snow. It was a knife-bright, blinding day; you never would have guessed that hours before there had been a raging blizzard. An enterprising father, trying to occupy his son, had taken a cafeteria tray outside. The boy was careening down the hill, whooping as a spray of snow arced out behind him. He stood up and waved toward the hospital, where someone must have been looking out from a window just like mine. I wondered if his mother was in the hospital, having another baby. If she was next door, even now, watching her son sled.
My daughter, I thought absently, will never be able to do that.
Piper held my hand tightly as we stared down at you in the NICU. The chest tube was still snaking out from between your battered ribs; bandages wrapped your arms and legs tight. I swayed a little on my feet. “Are you okay?” Piper asked.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about.” I looked up at her. “They asked if we wanted to sign a DNR.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “Who asked that?”
“Dr. Rhodes—”
“He’s a resident,” she said, as distastefully as if she’d said “He’s a Nazi.” “He doesn’t know the way to the cafeteria yet, much less the protocol for talking to a mother who’s just watched her baby suffer a full cardiac arrest in front of her eyes. No pediatrician would recommend a newborn be DNR before there was brain testing that proved irreversible damage—”
“They cut her open in front of me,” I said, my voice quivering. “I heard her ribs break when they tried to start her heart again.”
“Charlotte—”
“Would you sign one?”
When she didn’t answer, I walked to the other side of the bassinet, so that you were caught between us like a secret. “Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?”
For a long time, Piper didn’t respond. We listened to the symphony of whirs and beeps that surrounded you. I watched you startle, your tiny toes curling up, your arms open wide. “Not the rest of your life,” Piper said. “Willow’s.”
Later that day, with Piper’s words ringing in my ears, I signed the do not resuscitate order. It was a plea for mercy in black and white, until you read between the lines: here was the first time I lied, and said that I wished you’d never been born.
Handle With Care
I
Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus.
-WALLACE STEGNER, THE SPECTATOR BIRD
Tempering:
to heat slowly and gradually.
Most of the time when we talk about a temper, we mean a quickness to anger. In cooking, though, tempering is about making something stronger by taking your time. You temper eggs by adding a hot liquid in small increments. The idea is to raise their temperature without causing them to curdle. The result is a stirred custard that can be used as a dessert sauce or incorporated into a complex dessert.
Here’s something interesting: the consistency of the finished product has nothing
I burst into tears. “I don’t want her to go through that again. I can’t let them do that to her, Sean.”
The doctor looked stricken. “You might want to consider a DNR. It’s a do not resuscitate order that’s kept in her medical file. It basically says that if something like this occurs again, you don’t want any extraordinary measures taken to revive Willow.”
I had spent the last few weeks of my pregnancy preparing myself for the worst, and as it turned out, it wasn’t anywhere close.
“Just something to think about,” the doctor said.
Maybe, Sean said, she wasn’t meant to be here with us. Maybe this is God’s will.
What about my will? I asked. I want her. I’ve wanted her all along.
He looked up at me, wounded. And you think I haven’t?
Through the window, I could see the slope of the hospital lawn, covered with dazzling snow. It was a knife-bright, blinding day; you never would have guessed that hours before there had been a raging blizzard. An enterprising father, trying to occupy his son, had taken a cafeteria tray outside. The boy was careening down the hill, whooping as a spray of snow arced out behind him. He stood up and waved toward the hospital, where someone must have been looking out from a window just like mine. I wondered if his mother was in the hospital, having another baby. If she was next door, even now, watching her son sled.
My daughter, I thought absently, will never be able to do that.
Piper held my hand tightly as we stared down at you in the NICU. The chest tube was still snaking out from between your battered ribs; bandages wrapped your arms and legs tight. I swayed a little on my feet. “Are you okay?” Piper asked.
“I’m not the one you need to worry about.” I looked up at her. “They asked if we wanted to sign a DNR.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “Who asked that?”
“Dr. Rhodes—”
“He’s a resident,” she said, as distastefully as if she’d said “He’s a Nazi.” “He doesn’t know the way to the cafeteria yet, much less the protocol for talking to a mother who’s just watched her baby suffer a full cardiac arrest in front of her eyes. No pediatrician would recommend a newborn be DNR before there was brain testing that proved irreversible damage—”
“They cut her open in front of me,” I said, my voice quivering. “I heard her ribs break when they tried to start her heart again.”
“Charlotte—”
“Would you sign one?”
When she didn’t answer, I walked to the other side of the bassinet, so that you were caught between us like a secret. “Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?”
For a long time, Piper didn’t respond. We listened to the symphony of whirs and beeps that surrounded you. I watched you startle, your tiny toes curling up, your arms open wide. “Not the rest of your life,” Piper said. “Willow’s.”
Later that day, with Piper’s words ringing in my ears, I signed the do not resuscitate order. It was a plea for mercy in black and white, until you read between the lines: here was the first time I lied, and said that I wished you’d never been born.
Handle With Care
I
Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus.
-WALLACE STEGNER, THE SPECTATOR BIRD
Tempering:
to heat slowly and gradually.
Most of the time when we talk about a temper, we mean a quickness to anger. In cooking, though, tempering is about making something stronger by taking your time. You temper eggs by adding a hot liquid in small increments. The idea is to raise their temperature without causing them to curdle. The result is a stirred custard that can be used as a dessert sauce or incorporated into a complex dessert.
Here’s something interesting: the consistency of the finished product has nothing