It is Day 6. I am weakening. I couldn't get out of bed and go to my girl this morning. Daddy is with her. We've shift-cared for our children before. I thought yesterday it was time to get our family into some sort of new routine. Start to find a new normal. But when I thought about living life, about being a driver of routine, I realised I had nothing in my legs, nothing in my arms.
I feel deep bruising all over my body, slowly coming up from my soul and starting to show. Like when you have hurt your ankle and then you think it's okay, but when you try to put weight on it you realise it's worse than you thought.
What does today hold? What do I need strength for? Because I cannot think of tomorrow. They need to start weaning her off of her sedation, off of her life support, and see if she pushes back and starts to breath on her own. She responds to being pinched on her left arm.
What do I pray for her for today? She needs to stay calm when they lesson her sedation. If she starts to fight and move, they have to keep her so deep asleep, that she cannot breathe. Her brain needs to stay perfectly still. I pray peace for her soul and her body. I pray that she would surrender to the situation: to the pipe in her throat; to the limitation of her movement.
And for me? Surrender, too. My Richard always says that you need to relax into a rollercoaster ride. That's how you make it less terrifying. You just let it carry you and you don't fight it. I want to get off the rollercoaster, but that is not an option. I need to relax into it, completely unable to anticipate its next move, but letting it carry me where it goes.
Handmaidens, thank you for continuing to be my bones. I know you are getting tired, too. Please be wise and take shifts. I have no idea how long I will need life support. I love you.