"If you're going through hell, keep going." Winston Churchill

Wow. What a tough week. Isaac has really been fighting his pneumonia this week, but it's really taken a serious toll on his already weakened lungs. He's been up and down and up and down all week. That of course means that we've been up and down as well.

Thursday was the worst day. We spent most of the day with him--not that we could do much, but we just felt like we needed to be with him.

We're getting pretty comfortable with the NICU lingo and with their routines and procedures in caring for Isaac. We know that for the most part everything they do for him is necessary.

Even though intellectually, I know they need to keep moving him, poking him, sticking him with IV's, giving him meds, etc. sometimes it just makes me crazy. Thursday was one of those days. He was clearly so distressed and wanted to be left alone, but they kept having to adjust things and draw blood to check how he was doing.

I just wanted so badly to lay over his isolette and scream at everyone to leave him the hell alone! I know they need to do those things, but the Mama Bear in me just wants to protect him from all of it. We could tell how distressed he was. It was really tough to just have to sit and watch. It's hard to be away from him, but sometimes it's even harder to be there and have to watch the struggle knowing there isn't a single thing we can do about it.

I've thought several times during this whole ordeal, that as people, we are all at one time or another very well aquainted with sorrow, with pain, grief. It is part of the human experience and I am not so special or unique that I should be immune from it. It is so hard when you're going through it, but I really believe it does no good to wonder, "Why Me?" Why any of us? It helps me to remember that everyone has struggles, we all have "our time" of sorrow. There have definitely been days though when it just feels like too much. Some days when I just don't know how I will get through the day and maintain any semblance of sanity.

During one of "those" days this week while driving in to the hospital, I happened to glance over and see the "beds" of two homeless persons in an enclave outside the Salvation Army. Bunches of blankets and lots of empty coffee cups laying around. It was a poignant reminder that things could always always be worse.

Our family's current trial, while seemingly insurmountable to us at times, is truly nothing compared to so many other's. We have so many things to be grateful for. So very many things. There will be a time when this is past. When the brightness and fierceness of this experience will have faded and we will be able to enjoy our complete family without so much acute pain and sorrow. We will be able to move forward and heal.

Knowing that there will be an end to this, a light, even if very far away, does make it a little easier on those tough days. It helps me to be able to focus on what we have instead of what we're missing. Pulling in a little perspective has gotten me through the two toughest days so far (that and a LOT of prayer--okay and a lot of crying and chocolate too).