A few friends stopped by to meet Desmond this weekend and I could see in their eyes the shock of the NICU--the preemies, the beeping, the sterility of the place. My own feelings of the place have changed drastically after only being there for one week. It is a place of stunning emotion; a place that can be overwhelming and scary one day and the next day extremely calm and peaceful. It is a place filled with little beings whose survival instincts pull them through the most unimaginable circumstances and a place where tiny lives end before they've even begun. It is also an intensive place of love. Parents and grandparents, siblings and friends come to rally for these little folks and the support and love is palpable.

Respiration, I've learned, is a greatly complicated process. It's a wonder that any of us can breathe, really. There are numbers, so many numbers, that the Drs. and nurses throw at me on a daily basis. I like to pretend I'm listening and I am, but only to hear them say, "everything looks really good."

Dezi is fighting like a champion. Today's attending physician said that his "course has been totally uncomplicated and he's doing great." He's been intubated since minute one of life and we've never seen his face without tape covering most of it. The tube is supposed to come out in the morning. And (I'm afraid to write it here, to get my hopes up) the day after extubation we will get to hold him. My heart may explode.

I have had some unsteady moments. The tears come unexpectedly and I can easily go to a dark place. Part of it may be hormones. I explained to Shane that I'm feeling them and that it's like keeping barking dogs at bay. Feelings of panic come and go. They're less threatening now, after having been thru it one time with Mahalia but aggravating all the same. The tube in his face prevents him from making any sound. This has been the hardest part. When he cries, there is no sound and there is nothing that Shane and I can do to help him. It makes me feel hollow. I have to call the nurse and go give myself a break from staring at his little body by going to the lounge. The next day I get the news of extubation and it makes me feel elated.

Up and down, up and down. I can't say we're enjoying the ride but we're holding each other down and are feeling a little more like we're definitely going to get through it.

Hopefully, these will be the last photos with tape on his face.