It doesn’t seem real.
Any of this. It feels like I’m playing role, that there is a script. Surely they’ll say “That’s a wrap!” soon, right? This isn’t really happening…is it?
I can think these thoughts all I want, but nothing changes that fact that it is real. This is happening. This is not fiction.
I’ve never actually suffered from whiplash, but right now, in this moment, that’s how I would describe the way my body feels. After a whirlwind 48 hours, my body seems to be screaming at me, acting out like a toddler midway through a temper tantrum.
But then I pause. I am slapped with the reality that my daughter currently lies in a hospital bed with only a high-tech piece of Saran Wrap covering her beating heart. Her chest cracked. Tubes coming out of almost every orifice of her body. Sedated heavily. A machine breathing for her. I watch each beat of her heart and I’m brought to my knees.
We are simply broken for our daughter. Life isn’t supposed to be like this…but this is her life and she doesn’t know any different.
Words feel silly. They can’t seem to fully or accurately describe emotions and feelings. The truth is, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t need a diaper change or a pacifier. She doesn’t need consoling and cannot be held. There are so many things she needs that Chris and I simply cannot provide.
I wish I could transcribe each and every word the massive and incredible team of doctors and nurses have explained to us about our Audrey bunny. I wish I understood it all well enough to educate each of you fully. I cannot. And really, all of the details don’t matter anyway.
Somehow, someway…whether you choose to chalk it up to medicine, God or a combination of the two…her heart beats. And while so much is still unknown, I have to remind myself of something I have said many times…keep the faith.
In several broken moments I felt angry. I felt mad. Aching for my baby girl and wondering too many things. Not feeling worried…just completely at a loss, out of control. And that’s okay. Because I believe in a God that has His hands all over this. He is literally carrying Audrey through this…and us. Along with unbelievable family, friends and warriors, we will, as Chris optimistically stated, “make it through to the other side.”
As it did on the day she was born, the waiting area was overflowing as we did just that…waited. The private room they provided was no match for this group…people spilled into the hallway, stood for hours and no one made a single complaint. Instead, these incredible people smiled, shared Audrey moments, prayed, cried with me, asked about Cooper, brought food, traveled from near and far…these people have literally walked this journey with us from the beginning. Those who just couldn’t quite make it to the actual hospital were right there with us each step of the way. As close as they could be without physically being there. For this we are forever grateful.
My how blessed we feel by the outpouring of love and support. Thank you.
Thank you for your messages, texts, emails, calls and so much more. They don’t go unread or unappreciated.
I wish I had more words to share. A better, more eloquent series of sentences that would leave me feeling better to have it all written out. At some point we will share photos, now just isn’t the right time. Not yet. Thank you for your understanding. Instead, picture Audrey with her gummy grin, smiling and stealing our hearts. Pray that she will move. As the paralytic wears off, they are anxiously awaiting movement of her hands or feet. Pray she has no more seizures. Pray she will breathe again on her own. Pray for urine output. Pray the repair holds…that it does it’s job well. Pray for the doctors and nurses to know exactly what she needs, the moment she needs it. Pray that Audrey will continue being clear in her needs. And so many other big prayers she needs. I know you have…I know you are…I know you will.
As we can, updates will be posted. Simply put, thank you. Our hearts are full of so much, particularly gratitude.
Until next time, love and hugs dear warriors,