The blue light leaks out around the blinds. A butterfly is unwittingly stamped to the floor - aren't they supposed to fly?
We're in the pediatric wing of Delnor Hospital. And everyone is frustrated, and everyone is silently praying, and little Oliver isn't supposed to be this color. When they checked his bilirubin, pretty much right after the picture I took, it was not-so-slowly edging its way upward. 18. And they tell me that 25 is the zone you don't want to be near.
Please pray. Pray that the lights will take the bilirubin down. Pray that Oliver will perk up enough to eat, and that Britany's milk will come in enough to do the job.
Depression is such an unforgiving spiral. It seems I can't think of all the blessings that have happened. I can only count the things that are challenges at the moment. So please pray for all of us, too, that we won't lose hope, faith, or sight of the future. That this happens a lot and babies get over it.
But other babies aren't little Oliver.
