Jewel Can Glow in the Dark

Because her jaundice is not resolving fast enough, the doctor has ordered some bili-lights for her. A BIG home health care truck pulled in the driveway at about 5PM and out popped a guy with a strange contraption. A grid of lights is arranged so that they are in an envelope which ls about 6-8 inches wide and lays against her skin. Of course there is an umbilical cord that takes the blue light from the generator box to the band she lays on. And another cord that goes to the wall for electricity. The box has fan motors and other stuff that makes a hmmmmmmmm which I can imagine would be most irritating when trying to sleep. With the lights out, she's just a little glow worm -- you can see the blanket move, but you can't really tell it's a baby there -- just blue light and blanket. Hopefully, the blue lights will make her liver work better and that'll be the end of this treatment.

I went to yoga this morning for the first time in three weeks. I missed two classes due to Friday doctor appointments. Today was very challenging because (a) I was nauseaus from Tuesday's treatment, and (b) the moves were designed for the advanced folks in the class, and I am not advanced! I approximated things and attempted things, but was clearly much the new kid on the block. If nothing else it makes me feel like I've tried to do something good for myself that's physical. I do too much resting, sometimes, I think. The yoga is definitely not resting; it's very, very challenging to attempt.

Today I turned 56. I didn't know that it would be this way so soon. My grandma only made it to 66 and I'm hoping I can be at least that old before I die, but I have my will on my refrigerator just in case. Can I live 10 more years? I don't know. I want to feel hope. I want to embrace hope. I want to enthusiastically believe in hope, but I do not. Maybe after we got to MD Anderson I can, or maybe the diagnosis is too much for my psyche to take in -- but I continue to question if I shall have many more birthdays. Today I take pleasure in being with my family and appreciating this moment. I don't know how many more moments I have, but I have these ones right now, and I take pleasure in them. The tomorrows, whatever there are or aren't of them, have to take care of themselves. Today is all I can handle. Today the treatments make me weak and unable to taste anything much. Today, however, I am alive and I can hold my grandaughter and I can take pleasure in the miracle of her life, and that is enough for today.