All Heart

The nurses told me that I could buy a mobile to attach to the side of Dezi's crib. Besides pumping, I'm pretty much unable to do anything for the little guy. Feeling so helpless in caring for him leaves me feeling deflated. They could tell me they needed snow from the north pole for this kid and I would find a way to get it. And so, I ventured out into the real world to purchase a mobile. I take a rush hour train and promptly decide that I will be taking a cab home.

We are staying at a friend's home on 61st St. in Manhattan. Oddly, I'm antsy in my own house. It feels strange to be there without him. He and I spent so much time there together, watching crap TV, knitting and I want him to be home with me now. I am thankful to be staying in the apartment. It's like a little vacation amidst all this insanity.

I walked to the train at Columbus circle. I ordered a coffee at Starbucks. Today, he is 10 days old and I suddenly have a vivid memory of standing in front of a hardware store in Brooklyn with Mahalia in a sling, explaining to a stranger that she is 10 days old. I kiss her head and the Brooklynite tells me not to spoil her too much. I've held Dezi two times and kissed him once.

I feel like an alien walking down the street. I just had a baby and besides my milk boobs and a few stitches that are out of site, I've got nothing to show for it. I am all heart and no brain. I eavesdrop on a conversation between 6 or 7 very blond business women in Starbucks. One of them is telling the others about using her miles to get a hotel room in Rome. I want to punch her.

Dezi was uncomfortable all day yesterday and his breathing was accelerated. The surgeons order a chest x-ray because they're concerned that his patch is too weak in some areas. It's called de-hissing. I don't know why. If true, he'll need another surgery. The x-ray is inconclusive. They'll do another tomorrow.

I picked up the car from the parking lot. It has a flat tire. Funny enough, we brought the car to the Firestone Shop two days ago with a flat tire. They fixed it with a patch. Apparently the patch de-hissed. In the darkest part of my mind I think of patches de-hissing and how patches are generally temporary measures to repair something and I worry about Dezi's patch and his future. This kind of thinking doesn't help me and I force myself back around. If we are only lucky with one patch this week let it be Dezi's.

At the hospital I see Patricia, my recovery roommate. I ask about her daughter Mahalia and she tells me that Mahalia is going to die. I am stunned into silence. It is unthinkable. She has a hypoplastic heart and soon they will stop giving her the medicine that's keeping her heart going and she could live for another 30 minutes to 3 days. That's a lot of time to sit, wondering when your child might die.

When I sit down moments later to eat my sandwich a surgeon arrives to let some parents know that the operation was successful and their baby is doing well. There are many tears. I don't know these people and I cry for them and think about Patricia and her little Mahalia and I cry for them too.