*The following post was just emailed to me (Nicole) from Billy. He asked that I post it for you all so that you are updated.*
As I lay awake last night, agonizing over not being there for my children while I was there for my wife, I struggled to find a way to put a positive light on our utterly bogus situation. I told you, I need to feel like I am fighting back. Sure, I now have to wear a freakin spaceman suit to see my son, but things could be so much worse. Every time we walk through the NICU we see parents hanging on to hope. Catheters, respirators, IVs and incubators replace baseball, Britney Spears and American Idol as the topics of conversation. Rachel only looks straight ahead now because we have seen enough resuscitations. People hang on every beep that comes out of the plethora of machines that are hooked onto the babies, craning their neck to the right to see if their child is the next one the nurses will rush to.
The way of life is tough, with extreme highs and lows daily. The medical staffers work long hours dealing with difficult work. I used to think my job was important. Now I know how silly I can be. The parents are resilient, hopeful and more stressed out by the minute. So many others are worse off than Rachel and me. We should get our kids out in a few days, maybe weeks. Malorie's roommate Abe has been here for over three months.
I have come up with a way to make something good come from our time here, and plan on unveiling it later today. For all of you who have asked what you can do to help, I'm here to say that Rach and I don't need food, phone calls or visits right now. Please just check the blog later today for how you can help Mal, Micah and some other really terrific kids here in the NICU.