9 months later

Yesterday, Lulu had a cough. It deviled her all day, but we didn't really think anything of it.

Then last night, she started to wheeze. We called the pediatrician's after-hours line, put the phone on speaker so the nurse on call could listen, and then bundled our baby into her carseat for a 2 AM drive to the ER.

I kind of jolted a little when we turned into the ambulance bay instead of heading to the parking garage at the Women's Center, which is where we used to go, three times a day, to visit Lulu in the NICU during those first 15 days of her life. I guess I assumed we'd be going there, instead of to the ordinary triage unit, just out of pure muscle memory. Everything felt unfamiliar--instead of plush couches filled by family members waiting for exciting news of new grandbabies, pale and sweaty people were sprawled out on hard chairs, covered with coats, waiting for their turn to be seen. Instead of a cheerful aroma wafting from the coffee stand, everything smelled strongly of antiseptic and faintly of puke.


We were seen right away. When you say the word "preemie" and "wheezing" they don't fuck around much. Lu had been crying in the car, but in this new and interesting place, she forgot to be woeful. She played with the cords of her oxygen monitor, which beeped out a refrain I remembered so well as the soundtrack from the NICU. The little band that used to fit loosely over her tiny foot? Now only fit around one toe. That's how big she is now, compared to then.


Lulu refused to wheeze for the doctor. Like that Looney Tunes cartoon, where Michigan J. Frog won't sing if there's an audience. Several people listened to her lungs, and finally let us go, with instructions to sit with her in the steamy bathroom overnight or take her out into the cool night air if her coughing got too bad. And so we bundled her back into the carseat and left.

And the roads were so deserted as we pulled out of the hospital complex. It reminded me of leaving the hospital after our midnight visits to our baby last March and April. Only this time, we got to take her home with us instead having to leave her behind. So I didn't cry. But I did kiss my fingers and tap them on the glass of the car window, like I did every time we left back then. Right in the direction of the NICU, sending thoughts of gratefulness to Dr. Eig, Dr. Beck, Ingrid, Kathy, Katie, Donna, Caroline, Miriam...to all of the doctors and nurses and staff who took care of us and our girl. To all of the parents keeping vigil by the isolettes all through the night, this night.

We took our girl home and put her to bed. The night air did its trick. We were all of us breathing easier.

And we thought about what a difference nine months can make.