Doing this alone

Today I moved into the Ronald McDonald House. Once Aunt Irene left the hospital, it finally hit me that I was really, truly alone for the very first time. I couldn't stay long at the hospital, once I got back to my room, I just cried and cried until I fell asleep. My mother should be here for me. But she's not, she's too worried about her physical therapy. I wouldn't mind it much if she were actually taking in what she was doing, instead she's wasting doctor's time. All she wants is the pain medicines. My father should be here too, and can't. I'm really, truly alone. I don't know how I'm going to do this so alone. I have "family" here, but Irene and her husband really aren't family, and I don't want to become a burden to them. They have been so, so helpful; and I'm thankful for it. Its awful going to the hospital and seeing that little girl hooked up to all those machines. It hard hearing the doctor tell me he's doing all he can do to keep her alive. I understand the Gwen is a very, very sick little girl. I understand that she's hanging on, that it's still very early and I don't expect leaps and bounds from her. But all I want to do is hold her. I never got to hold her. In fact, I didn't even get to "see" her until hours after her birth, and then I never really saw her. I saw wires and a leg and an arm. Then they wheeled her out, to fly her out to Augusta. It then took me a week to get down to her, and by then little Gwen was barely hanging on to life. Now that I'm at her bedside everyday, I can tell she's doing better, but she's still so very, very sick. I know that recovery is a very long road, but its awful. It's so hard.

I know there is hope. The little babygirl in the bed next to Gwen was just recently on ECMO. She's now eating solids. Her mommy is in the Ronald McDonald House too, they're from Savannah. The little girl is about as old as Gwen. It gives me hope. That little girl was very sick to; maybe not as sick as Gwen. But each time Gwen backslides, it's hard. Even when the backslide is to be expected. Today they changed out her pump, and even though it's normal the nurses said, it was heartbreaking to find that she backslid again. She had been doing so good. They're trying their best to get some of her swelling down, and it just doesn't seem to be working at all. Apparently she's too swollen, and that is probably not healthy for her. Sometimes, I wonder if she's ever going to get better. I try to tell myself that I'm taking her home with me, but it hard to keep positive seeing your little girl hooked up to machines and moniters. I honestly don't think I can do this alone. Even being in the Ronald McDonald House, with other parents who are going through the same thing I am, I don't think I can do this. Gwen's recovery can take months and months; and with a mother who cares more about herself, and my dad himself can't spend months with me, I am so alone.