insurance company who never seems to have the correct information or codes.” Just write another appeal,” they say to an emotional, over-stressed mother. Fortunately, there are the special days when a nurse stays past her shift to personally get Mila through a rough patch, urging Kailey and Ryan to get some sleep. The day a volunteer made our baby an adorable hat with a bow almost bigger than she is – the silliness turned into precious. Or, the times a busy doctor has sat down with Mila’s parents in the hospital cafeteria when he could’ve been taking a much needed break. Last week, a hand-crocheted baby blanket appeared in her crib, the sweet crafter unknown. I hope the volunteer who made it (and that wonderful hat) will read this so they know how much it touched us. I want them to know it will be with Mila forever, and passed down to her daughter as a part of her story.
that passed by us hoping to hear our granddaughter’s name and any information connected to it. I noticed other parents and grandparents doing the same thing. We were groups of people together in our circumstance; yet separate as we juggled our own worries, fears and hopes. A young woman sat down across from me. She was crying. “My son is so sick,” she blurted out. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t reached out to her first. I switched my seat next to hers. I covered her hand with mine. Neither of us spoke. There was just too much. The doctor came in and called her into the room. I wish I knew how her little boy is doing. I wish I had given her a hug. Fifteen days later, Mila is still in the hospital with no release date to circle on the calendar. But, she’s improving. She’s where she needs to be. We will keep on keeping on, just like all the others who wait for their own sweet miracle.
Many friends have called and left messages of support. It’s physically and emotionally impossible to return each call, so my daughter has written updates on Facebook to keep this wonderful group of concerned people informed. Tip of the iceberg information that doesn’t include their minute to minute worries . . . the ifs, ands and buts. Kailey tries to end each update on a positive note. Day nine in the hospital was the day from hell. Something was wrong, and the doctors weren’t sure what was causing the problem. It was a wait and see condition. Kailey posted her “not so positive” update, but at the end she wrote: “Mila’s heart is pumping strong and she’s starting to get her feisty personality back. Even smiling now. She kept the nurse and me up all night pulling out her nasal oxygen tube and laughing. I’ll take that!” Those four sentences made it okay; not good, but okay. We could take a breath. The power of writing it down. Seeing it on paper. Believing it. When Mila was born, my husband and I spent a lot of time in the waiting room while her parents sat by her crib in the NICU (only two people allowed inside at once). We strained to overhear the conversations of the physicians
Rose Ann Sinay
is a freelance writer typing away in sunny North Carolina. Her articles/stories have been published in The Carolinas Today, The Oddville Press and The Brunswick Beacon.
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