Angel Day

Today is a very sad day for us. I've been dreading this date for a while. But, we can't stop the clock, and today is Brooklyn's Angel Day. Baby Brooklyn was such a huge part of our lives. Although she was tiny, she had a big impact on many people. We miss her so much. I can't help but wonder what life would be like for us if the result of her surgery had been different.

I think about her daily. I wonder what she would have looked like at a year old. I wonder what it would have been like to take care of two babies at one time. I wonder what it would be like for Aubrey to have a playmate. Our lives would be so very different. Thankfully, I have Aubrey to remind me of our angel that looks down on us from above.

I just hope Brooklyn knows how much we love her and how much we fought for her. I hope she understands that we miss her dearly. I hope that she can hear me when I talk to her. I hope she can feel my hugs every night when I hug giraffie. I hope that she is what Aubrey is smiling and giggling at when she talks to the ceiling.

I know it's not reasonable, but I do feel so much guilt about Brooklyn and her loss. If only I could have done things differently and listened to my body, maybe I could have carried her longer. Had she been chunky and full term, would she have been strong enough to make it through? Why did God choose us to be her parents? We'll never know. All I know is that the pain still hurts. I miss her every moment of everyday!

I love you baby Brook-a-lee! You will forever be remembered! Thank you for letting us be your parents.

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Goodbye Angel Brooklyn

One year ago today we said good-bye to our baby Brooklyn. It was a long, hard, emotional fight. I know she fought her absolute hardest and gave us 46 beautiful days to get to know her and love her. I'd do it all over in a heartbeat. As hard as it is today, that time with her was worth all the pain and the emptiness in my heart.

Her last few minutes with us were the hardest moments of my life. I will remember those moments like they were yesterday for the rest of my life. We had to say good-bye to our baby and make the hardest decision of our lives. She was so sick and it was clear that she wasn't going to get better. I knew it was her time to go. God had already decided that she was going to be his angel, it was just a matter of when. I held Brooklyn in my arms and cried for all the things she would never get to do. I cried for all the things that we would miss about her. I cried that she would never get to know her sissy Aubrey. I cried that this was happening to us. But, in all the tears, there was peace in my heart. I knew she'd go to Heaven and be in a better place.

When it was time, we both held our little girl and told her it was okay, that she could go now. I told her thank you for letting me be her Mommy and that I would see her again. Thank you for letting us get to know her and love her. It was the hardest moment of my life. It hurt all over my body. It was a pain that was so deep and overwhelming. We sat and held her for a long time after she went to Heaven. We talked to her, rocked her, and prayed for peace in our hearts. Mostly, we needed that time together as a family.

After a while, the nurses said that they would clean her up and remove all the tubes and wires and that we could come back in the room in a little while if we'd like. I was numb. I had cried so much in those few days that I felt like I had nothing left. We wandered out to the lobby to find our families. I sat in silence, watching those around me. I didn't know why those parents were there and what they were going through, but I knew by their faces that they had not just said goodbye to their child like we had to do.

It felt like a lifetime before Dr. Zebrack found us and brought us back to Brooklyn's room. She looked like a sleeping angel, wrapped in her pink and brown polka dot blanket and dressed in her micro preemie outfit and hat. Some of our family members held her again and said goodbye one at a time. We snuggled her again for a little while before we said goodbye for the very last time. I felt like those few moments were like hours. I just took everything in and savored every moment with Brooklyn.

We said our goodbyes to the staff. Several nurses and doctors came and gave their condolences. I know they worked their hardest to save our baby. I can't imagine going through this time and time again with children. But they do. I thanked them for their hard work and their compassion through it all.

They gave us Brooklyn's belongings and her keepsake box. It was time to go... there was not a reason to be there any more. We walked down the hallway for the very last time. We rode the elevator down for the very last time. We walked out the front doors for the very last time. We walked to our car for the very last time. We drove away for the very last time. But, this time we drove away without our baby and knowing that we would never be able to bring her home.

Her Last Day

Once we were moved to the private room Brooklyn was reconnected to all the machines. She tolerated the move and transition to the other ventilator just fine. They bumped her settings way up, pretty much as high as they would go to give us more time with us.

The doctor (Dr. Zebrack, whom I love) was honest with Andy and I. She told us that Brooklyn was not in any pain. They were giving her plenty of pain medication and they made her very comfortable but that she was paralyzed from the amount of medications. She said she didn't know how long we would have with our little girl, but we were welcome to hold and comfort her as long as we wanted to. I asked her to please turn off all the alarms and bells. I couldn't handle the alarms and dinging any longer. They discontinued all non-essential medications at this time. They brought in a chair for us to sit and hold Brooklyn. It was the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat in... but that didn't matter to me at the time. I just wanted to hold my little girl. The nurses placed a pillow on my lap and they carefully laid a tiny, sweet, sleeping baby on the pillow. She was still dressed in her pretty princess white dress. I held her close. She was freezing. I didn't like that feeling. We gathered up as many blankets as possible and tried to keep her warm. I sat and rocked with her and talked to her and rubbed her hair. I loved her no matter what she looked like.

My mom arrived and later so did Andy's parents. They sat in the room with Brooklyn, Andy, myself and Lynnette. We talked about sweet Brooklyn and cried about what was to come. At some point Andy's brother and sister-in-law also came for a while. It was hard for everyone to see Brooklyn in her condition. But I could see past her weeping eyes and swollen ears and fingers and pictured my beautiful, perfect baby that I met on her birthday. The nurses were able to find some special clay to take some hand and footprints. I had sent Lynnette home to the cottage to pick up Brooklyn's keepsake birth certificate. We hadn't gotten her footprints yet. The nurses got some ink paper from the NICU and they took Brooklyn's hand and footprints for us. They cut a lock of her hair and assembled a special keepsake box for us. The staff took special care of us in our time of despair. I felt nothing but compassion and sympathy from the family I had come to know and love over those 45 days.

After holding Brooklyn for a few hours, all of a sudden something started to change. All of her stats dropped and we feared the worse. We thought it was her time to go. I knew it would happen, but I just couldn't let go... just not yet. I was still hoping for a miracle. I was hoping that the doctor would walk in and tell me that they had made a mistake, they had forgotten to try something that was going to fix her. That never happened. I called the NICU where Aubrey was. I feel sorry for the nurse that had to take that call. I don't even remember who answered the phone and who was her assigned nurse. I told her the situation and that we were losing Aubrey's twin and that she was the only link between Aubrey and Brooklyn. That we were just calling to say good-bye. To please give Aubrey a good-bye kiss from her sissy Brooklyn. That was the hardest call to make. I just can't get over the guilt I have for Aubrey. That she was supposed to grow up with a twin and now she's gone. There were a few tense moments and then she went back up to her previous numbers. She wasn't ready to leave us.

Her heart and body held out through the night. Andy and I took turns holding her. I didn't want her to be alone in her final hours. In the early morning hours I went out to the waiting room to get an hour or so of sleep. I had been so wrapped up in Brooklyn that I hadn't pumped in at least 6-8 hours. My pain didn't matter at that point. Food didn't matter. Only Brooklyn mattered.

After pumping, an hour or two of sleep in two days, I went back in to see Brooklyn. Daddy was holding her and rocking her. I know it had to have felt good to finally be held for so long. This tiny baby laid on a table for 45 days and now on her last day she finally was able to be held for hours at a time. It seems so unfair. Unfair that we didn't get that connection before this point. Two days before her surgery was the only other time she had been held. That was only for 10 or so minutes. So to hold her for this long was so comforting to me and I'm sure to her too. I know she was heavily sedated, but I know she could hear us.

Sometime that morning Dr. Zebrack showed back up. The family left the room and it was only Andy and I. She was kind of surprised that Brooklyn had made it through the night. Then she told us that it might be time to say good-bye. She wasn't going to get any better. In that 24 hours, Brooklyn had become even more swollen and was leaking fluid. It was horrible. Andy and I knew she was right. We asked what would happen. Basically, they would give her plenty of pain medication and then they would remove her breathing tube. I was scared to death that we had to make such a decision to let her go. What if she could recover and we weren't giving her the time she needed? Dr. Zebrack reminded me that she was not producing any urine at this point and that her body just couldn't handle it. There was nothing that they could do to help her. We called our family back into the room so each person could say good-bye. It was so hard. Everyone was emotionally drained and it was hard to hear their good-byes. But, we were all at peace knowing that she was going to a better place and would feel no pain in Heaven. Her heart would be whole and she would never suffer again.

The "Talk"

A day after we arrived back up to Stanford after my birthday and Thanksgiving, Andy had to go back to work. Lynnette came up and traded places with him. I remember her face when she saw Brooklyn for the first time in about a week. She was shocked at her appearance. It was hard to see our baby that way... that wasn't our baby that we had come to know and love. She was so swollen and unrecognizable.

I knew things were bad, but I didn't want to believe it. At some point in the evening, the nurse practitioner came in and and sat with us. I could see it on her face. The news wasn't going to be good. Too be honest, I don't even remember all that was said. She started off by saying that things had changed and Brooklyn had taken a turn for the worse. They were disappointed since she had been doing so well. They suspected an infection had caused her to go down hill so rapidly. She looked right at me and said, "I'm sorry to tell you that we probably won't be able to bring her out of this. We don't think she's going to get better." I burst into tears, starting shaking my head and said, "NO! DON'T SAY THAT!" She said she was sorry. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. It was like a nightmare and I wasn't waking up at this point. The nurse kept talking, but I don't remember anything that was said. I remember Lynnette asked some questions, but I couldn't speak. I just stared at Brooklyn, crying hysterically.

I ran out of the room. I was angry. I was VERY angry. Before this talk I had NEVER even considered that she wasn't going to make it. How could this be happening to us? She was doing fine. She was making very slow progress, but steady was fine with me. Now it had all changed and I was mad. I had been in denial about her status when we arrived back and now I was forced to listen to them tell me she wasn't going to make it. I felt trapped as I made my way through the CVICU. I had no where to go. But I knew I couldn't sit in there and listen to that lady tell me my daughter was going to die. I didn't know where to go. I turned the corner into the hallway and there were people in the little waiting area.... I couldn't breathe I was so upset. I just needed to be alone and there were people all over the place. I made my way down the hallway and found the chapel at the end of the hall. As soon as the door closed behind me I broke down. I was screaming. I was crying. I was wailing. Why? Why? WHY? Why God? Why us? Why Brooklyn? This wasn't supposed to be happening. She was supposed to go home with us. She was supposed to grow up with her twin sister Aubrey. We were supposed to watch her grow up. We were supposed to be the parents of twin girls. Now it wasn't going to happen. She was going to become an angel in just a matter of time. I needed Andy. I needed him there with me in that moment. But his damn work made him go back.

I sat in the chapel and just cried. I prayed to God for the first time in a very long time. I'm not sure it was a prayer... there was a lot of screaming and yelling. But, I know God was listening. After telling Him all about Brooklyn and why she had to pull through and what she meant to me, suddenly I felt a calm come over my body. I could breathe again. I knew then that God didn't care if I hadn't been to church in years or that I hadn't asked for help before that moment. All that mattered was that I reached out to Him. After much silence and thought, I knew that everything was going to be okay. Brooklyn was so sick and her little body couldn't fight any more. She tried so hard to make it and I knew that. She fought hard for six and a half weeks to be with us. Every moment was precious with her. I appreciated that she was apart of my life and I had the chance to know her.

I remember Lynnette finding me in the chapel and just sitting with me while I cried. She cried too. I knew it was just as hard on her and I truly appreciated her being there with me in that moment. I can't even tell you what happened next or the order of things. It is all a blur. I remember calling Andy on his cell phone and he didn't answer. How could he not answer? I realized he was probably in with Aubrey in the NICU and couldn't have his phone on. I called the NICU and asked for Aubrey's nurse. I asked if Andy was there, through my tears. They got him on the phone. I was hysterical. I told him that Brooklyn wasn't going to make it. She was really sick and I needed him to come up right now. He said okay, that he was on his way.

I remember sitting with Brooklyn and just holding her hand and talking to her. I told her she needed a miracle and she needed to make more urine and fight as hard as she could. To be honest, I was hoping for a miracle. They happen, and I thought it would happen for us. I kept watching her tubes for fluid output. There was some, but not enough. She continued to be negative (less output than the fluid amounts they were giving her). This was not the answer I was looking for! We called the Chaplin and she prayed for Brooklyn and we made arrangements for the regular Chaplin to come baptise Brooklyn.

At some point Andy arrived and we just cried together at Brooklyn's bedside. We stayed with her for hours. We made our way to the parent lounge after midnight and slept on the very uncomfortable pull out chairs. I had to continue to pump every 2-3 hours, so I was up again and again. Each time I'd go in and check on Brooklyn. She was the same... not enough fluid output. I was exhausted mentally and emotionally.

We were up early to sit with her. There had been no change. The doctors made their rounds while we were sitting there. "The outcome looks grim" is pretty much what was said as we sat there. Tears ran down my face. One of the doctors said she'd be back to talk to us. She came back and said that they had tried everything and that they couldn't bring her back. She was just going to continue to swell and become even more disfigured. I was still praying for a miracle. Her kidneys were in complete failure and she wasn't a candidate for dialysis. I was grasping at straws. Anything to make her better.

Somehow both sets of grandparents were called to come say goodbye. They would be arriving later in the afternoon. They wanted to move us to a private room. They said that meant they would have to change her from the oscillator to a regular ventilator and they didn't know how long she would make it with the change. I told them they couldn't move her until she was baptized. Our regular Chaplin came up later in the morning and Brooklyn was changed into a beautiful white dress (probably a doll dress since it was so small). The Chaplin led a beautiful service and Brooklyn was baptized right there in her regular bed. After that, the nurses were in a hurry to move her. I wasn't ready for the change. I wasn't sure how long she'd survive on the other ventilator, and I wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. I hadn't even had a chance to hold her in over 28 days. The little girl next to us was coming back from surgery and that meant we'd have to leave while they got her set up and stabilized. I wasn't leaving Brooklyn, and they knew that. They finally convinced me to move to the private room. We'd have too many people there at her bedside, and I could hold her if we moved her. That's what changed my mind. I couldn't wait to cuddle my little girl.

There was lot of hustle and the nurses and doctors got her set up for the move. They had to put her on portable machines and take her off the vent for the short trip down the hall. They had to "bag" her during the move. I was scared to death that she wasn't going to make it and I wouldn't get to say a proper goodbye. I looked on and worried what was going to happen.

Uncertainty

At this point a year ago our lives were being turned upside down. My daily visits to the hospital and sitting by Brooklyn's side suddenly became very uncertain. I had gone home for my birthday and for Thanksgiving. I was gone for two days. The first day (my birthday), Brooklyn had an awesome day. My numerous phone calls to the nurses were all positive and she was stable.

The very next day Brooklyn took a turn for the worse. No one really understood what happened and why. Her urine output pretty much stopped. Her kidneys started to shut down and she began to swell again. When I heard this news I cut my visit with Aubrey short and immediately made the drive back up to Stanford. Andy followed me up so we could be together.

When we arrived I was stunned at Brooklyn's appearance. She had made so much improvement before I left and when we came back two days later, she was nearly unrecognizable. Her poor little body had begun to swell and her eyes were the size of golf balls. They were now unable to check her pupils since they were swollen shut. I was visibly upset and not prepared for her condition. I couldn't understand how it happened so quickly. But... things can change in a heartbeat in the hospital, and I should have known that.

Andy was able to stay one more day, but he had to return to work for the following day. His work was short on drivers and he was told he needed to return. I'll never forget how angry I was about this. Here our little girl was in critical condition and he had to go to work!?! I called my sister Lynnette to come be with me. I couldn't be alone at this point. I needed moral support. She dropped everything and they basically traded places.

Apparently at this point I was in denial about Brooklyn and her status. I really thought she'd be okay. I thought she'd turn a corner and improve. I was wrong.

The Forest

I'm a detail person. I need to know the plan. It's okay if the plan changes, but I want to know what happens next, and how it's going to happen.

This was my problem while Brooklyn was in the hospital. I just wanted someone to tell me exactly what to expect, what would come next and what to expect in the future. No one had a crystal ball. No one could give me the details I needed.

It was a daily struggle for me mentally and emotionally. Some days there was no change in her status, which was good. To me, a quite day was a good day. Then there were the days that never ended. I remember the first week I was alone. I was sitting in the big room (the room where post-op patients stay until they are stable... where Brooklyn spent forever) and the doctors were rounding. They discussed her status and spoke in codes. Parents are encouraged to stay for rounds, but I felt like they were talking about Brooklyn like I wasn't there. They didn't sugar coat a thing. I was heartbroken hearing them talk about my baby. It wasn't a good day for her. They were extremely concerned about a bleed on her brain, her swelling, and her high heart rate. Everything seemed to be going wrong. Later, her heart rate was erratic, jumping up to over 250 (no kidding there!), and the doctors swarmed around her. Tears automatically filled my eyes. I needed details. I needed someone to tell me it was going to be okay. Instead, her external pace maker had to kick in and regulate her heart. I was so scared. I'm sure I was a wreck.

This was at least a week or so before they were able to close her chest. They finally decided to close her chest on November 14th. That was 12 days after surgery. They had warned me that the longer her chest remained open, the higher the risk for infection. But, she was so swollen following surgery, that they couldn't close for quite a while. Chest closure went pretty well. She was stable afterward. She was still having heart rate issues and they kept trying to balance her electrolytes. Any time her potassium levels went too low, her heart rate would jump up sky high.

One year ago today was the day that I sat by her side, upset about the lack of progress and disappointed that I wouldn't be home by Christmas. Everyday I would get updates about Aubrey, but I couldn't hold either one of my little girls. All I could do was sit by Brooklyn's bedside, holding her hand and praying that she'd get better. I was depressed and upset. Our nurse that day wasn't listening to me. She didn't stay on top of her electrolytes and Brooklyn continued to have erratic heart rates. When they started to go up, I asked the nurse about her potassium levels. She said they were fine. After 10 minutes of watching my little girl's monitors of heart rates in the 200's and listening to the alarms ring, finally the doctor asked the nurse about the potassium level. Sure enough, it was low and they gave her the appropriate amount and her heart rate leveled out. Believe me, I would never have thought I would have learned so much about the heart and medications in such a short time. But, sitting there day in and day out, there's nothing else to do but watch and learn.

The nurse practitioner came in and saw that I was upset. She sat down and asked what was going on. I told her that I was upset at the lack of progress and that it was the same stuff day after day. In my head I just wanted a date, a date that we'd be released and she'd be sent back to the other hospital with her sister. I didn't want to be there any more. I wanted to be home with Aubrey and Andy. I was upset that I had planned to go home for Thanksgiving and my birthday. I wanted to go home and see Aubrey for the first time in over three weeks. Now, with Brooklyn's crazy heart rates, I wasn't sure I'd be able to leave her. The nurse practitioner said that Brooklyn had made progress. She had already had the full surgery to repair her heart and now her chest was closed. She told me that I needed to step back and see that she had made progress. That I couldn't see the forest, only the trees.

How could I see the big picture? My baby was laying on the bed, naked, hooked up to wires, tubes, monitors, medications. All I wanted to do was get her healthy enough to get her transferred closer to home. I wanted to sleep in my own bed. I wanted to hold my healthy baby. I wanted it to all be over. Now I'm angry about those thoughts. I should have just appreciated what I had. The fact that she was alive and making slow progress. I know it's irrational, but I feel like I put too much pressure on her by setting a time line. I should have just accepted the situation and dealt with it rather than making a time line.

I learned so much about myself during my journey with Brooklyn in the hospital. I don't take a single moment for granted anymore. I often step back and am able to see the forest now. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the trees in front of me, but I force myself to let it go and look at the whole picture. Life is so different now. I'm a different person. She has made me a better person.

Lost in Thought

Today I did something out of character. I went out to lunch by myself. It was interesting. It gave me time to sit, think and reflect. This is something I don't seem to ever get to do. I'm always sidetracked with Aubrey and she demands all my attention. But, my quiet lunch gave me time to think.

Naturally, my mind went right to Aubrey and then to Brooklyn. I sat and watched the people come and go. How is it that all those strangers have no idea that I've lost a child? They have no idea where I've been in life and what road I'm on now. They have no idea that I'm a mother to two children... one on Earth and one in Heaven.

I remember thinking similar thoughts when I was at the hospital day in and day out with Brooklyn. While sitting in the waiting room, or in the cafeteria, I'd look around. I had no idea why those parents were there. Maybe their child was fighting for their life or maybe they were just there to visit a friend who just had a baby in the maternity ward.

Everyone is fighting their own battle of some sort. Everyone has baggage. I just don't understand why some people are given huge burdens to bare.

Let's Do This!

Welcome to November! That means we are getting ready for the Blood Drive in Memory of Brooklyn. I finally got the blood bank information and have the appointment sign ups in my hot little hands. After one day, I repeat, ONE day, we have 24 volunteers. I can't believe it people! You're amazing. THANK YOU!

Each time someone says they would love to give blood it brings a smile to my face. I'm totally up to the challenge of getting 46 donors. Heck, we're half way within the first day of scheduling appointments! Lots of other people I know have said they would like to give, they just need to make an appointment time.

So, this is my official plea to all those loyal blog readers, friends, family, and co-workers. Will you please consider donating blood in memory of Brooklyn? I would love to prove the blood bank wrong when the coordinator said that the goal of 46 donors was pretty high. She totally doesn't know me and know our family. Heck, our little Aubrey has more than 20,000 hits on her blog in less that a year. We can totally do this! So, let's do it! If you haven't already, please contact me to make an appointment to donate blood.

The Blood Drive in Memory of Brooklyn will be held on Saturday, December 6th from 10am - 2pm in the Ralph Dunlap Elementary School parking lot. We will be serving refreshments and you will even get to play with and hold little Aubrey. (Now, doesn't that make the needle prick worth it?) I'll also have a memorial video montage for everyone to view. It's really priceless.

If you're not local, and are unable to make it, I strongly encourage you to make an appointment at your local blood bank to donate in Brooklyn's memory. Saving a life, is saving a life, no matter where you do it. Help your community during the holiday season when the most blood is needed.

Baby Brook-a-lee meant the world to us. She taught us so much during the short time we were able to be with her. Life is too precious to not take advantage of each moment. If you're able to, please donate blood in her honor. You'll be helping bring meaning to her short life while also filling my heart. You all are amazing. Thank you for your constant support, prayers and love throughout this past year.

Surgery Day

This season is marked by so many dates. Today was Brooklyn's open heart surgery one year ago. We waited over 2 weeks for her to finally be ready to go into such a big and risky surgery. She had been waiting in the NICU and was on many medications to keep her PDA open and to stabilize her blood pressure. Finally they felt like she was stable enough and ready for the big day. All heart moms can relate to the wait. It's all about bed space. They were more than willing to operate on her, but we had to wait for a bed in the CVICU. Finally, they said the 2nd would be the day.

We talked to each team member that was to be apart of her operation. We read the countless release forms, asked questions, and worried and worried some more. She was even apart of some sort of research trial with a new type of scope they used during the surgery. That was another hefty book to read and additional forms to sign. I felt very comfortable with her heart surgeon. He is well known for his work on preemies and itty bitty hearts. He had worked on babies much smaller than Brooklyn. That's amazing to me. How can he make such delicate repairs to a heart smaller than the size of a grape? Amazing. I knew she was in good hands.

We arrived early to the hospital since they were going to take her back at 7am. I wanted to spend time with her before she went. I honestly had no idea if she'd make it through the incredibly long and invasive surgery. They were going to open her heart! I was worried sick. We spent quality time with her and they even allowed Andy and I to stay with her during shift change at 7am. Finally they came at about 8am to take her back. They transferred her to the portable machines and off she went. We walked the hallways with her until the surgery wing. That was the hardest moment for me... watching them take her away. I didn't know if I'd ever see her again.

We waited all day. It was the longest wait of my life. They gave us a pager in order to let us know if there was any information. It never beeped. Which, in itself is good news. No news is good news. I was getting restless. I had brought giraffie with me to wait it out and give me something to focus on. I tried to nap, but I couldn't. I was too worried. I had so many thoughts and emotions. They were going to do the full repair right then. Get everything done in one surgery. That meant she wouldn't have to have any more surgeries until she outgrew her new pulmonary valve. That sounded good to me.

Finally there was news. After circling the receptionists desk and telling her countless times that I needed to know something, she went to the OR to check on the status of our precious Brooklyn. Surgery was complete, but there was some additional bleeding that they were worried about and they wanted to give it some time since the OR is the best place to keep her in case something else needs to be done. Okay... that was relief. She survived. She survived the bypass machine and having her tiny heart stopped for a little while during the repair. I was relieved and feeling optimistic. It was still a long wait after that to finally see the surgeon who came out to the waiting room to give us an update. She was in recovery, the surgery went really well and he was pleased with the repair. The next 48 hours would be critical for her. I think that's all I heard. I know there was far more information shared... but that's all I needed to know at the time.

About an hour later we were allowed back to see her. I was shocked at how she looked. I literally got sick to my stomach and felt dizzy and had tears streaming down my face. My little girl was purple. I kept asking, "you're sure she's breathing?" Of course she was, she was on a ventilator. She had nurses and doctors all around her. She was hooked up to a million medication lines and machines. It was scary and overwhelming. I tried to listen, but I couldn't get past the color of her skin. That's not how she looked when she went back now look at her! After a few minutes, I had to excuse myself. I was sure I was going to get sick in the middle of the CVICU. I made my way, in a daze, to the parent bathroom. I was so upset that I was physically ill. I just couldn't handle it. It all hit me at that point the magnitude of the situation.

What if she wouldn't make it? She couldn't die. She had a twin sister. What would Aubrey do without her? What would I do without her?

After a few minutes I gathered myself back together and made my way back. We stayed for a little while just watching the hustle of the nurses around her. I couldn't hang. I needed to sit down. We left and found a private area where I bawled like a baby in Andy's shoulder. This wasn't supposed to be happening to us. This wasn't supposed to be happening to our baby. We sat together for a long time. Somehow I gathered the strength to walk down the hallway to our families. I just kept saying that she didn't look right that she was purple. Her chest was open, she was hooked to a million lines, and the next 48 hours are critical. That's all I could explain. I was done. I couldn't think. I couldn't talk.

My mom drove us back to the hotel where I curled up in bed and cried. I was heart broken and physically ill. I was worried that the phone was going to ring at any second to tell us that she didn't make it through the night. The phone call didn't come... thankfully!

I don't know what time I fell asleep or what time I woke up. Oh, right. I was pumping so I was up several times throughout the night to pump for my girls. There was a purpose for me. It gave me something to focus on. Something to distract me.

We made it to the hospital the next morning to find that she made it through the night. She was still critical, but everything was going according to plan and her recovery was normal for a preemie with lung issues. That was only the case for the first two days. Soon after that, she started to swell. Every piece of her body was swollen... even her little ears. It was so hard to watch. But everyday, I would sit at her bedside, hold her hand, and talk to her. For the first week we had family there, but then it was time for everyone to go back to work. So I was there by myself. That was probably the hardest part. Waiting for her to get better and only being connected to those I love by a phone. It was also extremely hard to be away from Aubrey. The wait was killing me. I just wanted her to get better and it wasn't happening. It was all a waiting game.