Our bitty girl is feisty. She has been since well before she was born. Every time she's been dealt a bad hand, she's fought her way back. Mightily.
Sophie arrested Friday night. An ambulance and helicopter ride later and she was back in her hospital bed, machines whirring, alarms beeping, IVs infusing. How long she was deprived of oxygen and blood flow is up for debate. Saturday revealed a malfunction of her shunt. She underwent surgery for the ventricular catheter to be replaced.
The incident Friday night has added insult to injury. Little Sophie, who more often than not has come out of surgery wide-eyed is still unresponsive. Her little eyes are tightly closed. She stirs just slightly when held. On occasion, she takes a breath or two over the vent that she currently clings to.
Foolish people we are not. Our hope for Sophie's future has been peppered with realism, our goal to maximize her potential by allowing her to show us what that is and more than anything else to fill her with endless amounts of love.
Tonight our love washes over her in a near constant flow of tears. Every thread of hope we grasp on to, quickly broken by one doctor or another. One has likened Sophie's condition to that of a drowning victim, most awakening within 24 hours, others not ever. It was pointed out that the 24 hour mark has come and gone. Our pediatrician, ever watchful from both bedside and home, cheers her on by text. Her labs are good. She is tolerating her vent changes like a champ. It's obvious which camp we would like to be in.
Kendra came by. I asked her the tough questions. I have an obsessive need to know how things work. I don't like surprises. In her very nurse-like way, she explained the process of taking away life support as I cradled Sophie's fragile body in my arms. I half listened. Some of it registered. A lot of her words faded into the background as that voice in my head screamed...
Come on, feisty girl! Show 'em what you've got!!