Dreamers live with a healthy bit of denial

Kenna's has a strap under the chin, too.

The other day we went to visit Kenna, part of our daily routine.  And as we arrived in the NICU, one of her doctors came to talk to us.  We had already been warned by one of the nurses that he was probably going to come over and speak to us, so it wasn't a shot when he did.

We braced ourselves.

Yes, Sam and I have grown accustomed to the negativity that the doctors often wear just as surely as they wear their scrubs and their lab jackets.  We know that they don't mean anything by it, but they dress up their discussions as reality...a reality that I would like tempered with optimism.  And thus started the discussion.

doctor: We're going to try Kenna on CPAP.

I was nervous.  Sure, it's the natural progression of things, but I worry that at some point she's simply going to give out.  Sam had held her the day before and that was the first time I realized just how teeny tiny she is.  And the thought of Kenna, that small, breathing all but on her own...was a bit daunting.

She isn't supposed to be here yet.  She's only supposed to be 28 weeks in utero.  She's supposed to be so much bigger than she is, but that bad placenta messed everything up.  She isn't supposed to be doing this well, either.  And that's what worries me most.

We haven't had infections or bleeds on the brain.  She hasn't suffered any of the ill effects of the medications.  Her PDA didn't close, but it isn't really holding her back any either.  And I suppose part of me is simply waiting for it all to come crashing down.  That, by the way, is a horrible way to live.

 That's why I don't dwell on it.  I think of it only in passing, when I am forced to...like when some doctor wants to talk to me.  And I have to tell you, I had my suspicion that the talk was going to be a good one.  He hugged me.  He's never done that before.  He hugged me even after Sam called him Dr. Sunshine.  (He thought it was nicer than Dr. Dark Cloud.  I say it's the same thing.)

All I know is that Kenna defies the doctors and nurses every chance she gets.  She fights them when they even touch her to check her temperature...batting at their hands and pushing them away.  She's quite effective, too.  They didn't expect her to do so well, but here she is...sticking it out...making progress...coming along.

We're going to keep on fighting with her.  We are going to make sure that she has all the love and support that she needs.  We joke with her nurses.

There is one in particular who tells us all we really need to know about Kenna.

nurse: She doesn't know that she's fragile.

me: Well, I'm not going to be the one to tell her.

And it's true.  Kenna carries on with the attitude of a defiant child much larger than her one pound stature.  I love her for it.  I love her for that and so much more.  She brings us such joy.  She offers so many hope.  Every day is one day closer to coming home.  We're months from that.

For now...we'll concentrate on breathing and holding her body temp.