Storytelling

It has been two days of relative calm. We are grateful the bypass machine is working and monitoring each and every organ, each and every level that is charting her body. I gently tickle her foot, praying from the top down as her mother does, that her mind is calm and focused, her heart is strong, antibodies kick it in her lungs, arteries and veins remain strong and supple, and her kidneys, liver, spleen and pancreas keep up the hard job of filtering her blood. There is nothing between my thoughts and Heaven as I close my eyes and feel the warmth of her seep into my hands.

We are satisfied now with baby steps. Even normal stabilizing incremental steps are enormous because they will build one upon the other towards a day when health is restored. We celebrate that her kidney output is normal; she is peeing like a racehorse; her blood sugars are dropping to appropriate levels; her heart rate is strong and solid; there is more activity in her lungs; and her mind is soothed by lullabies on the speaker near her ear.

Her sisters and cousins and aunties tell fabulous stories of Aiyana being Snow White and all her uncles and brothers and grandpas are the seven dwarfs. Or she is Belle and family members are the teapot or footrest or cup. She is sometimes a fairie and flies with wings. I hold her toes painted with blue polish and they are no longer cold.

I will read to her my children's favorite books, one after the other, quietly smiling as she hears them from deep where she rests. One of these days when she opens her eyes with those long lashes fluttering and focusing, the faces of her mother and dad will be the first thing she sees with their Pepsodent smiles. And when she awakens, we will read the stories again with all the character voices and she will know them by heart.