Despite It All

Chapter 42

Day +37

Mia,

You are my greatest joy and my sweetest triumph. Your laugh, your smile, and your vibrance all carry me through each and every breath I take. Every time I look at you, I know I was born so that I could know you, love you, remember you. I know that every time I close my eyes, I will see all that you were, all that you are... all that you could have been. I hope that you always know just how loved you are, now and forever. You'll always be daddy's little girl... my girl.

I love you more than I could ever, ever express.

Daddy

***

Tears stream down my face as I read Logan's inscription to Mia on her quilt, a loving symbol of immortalization—a bright spot within this dark PICU room of death and despair. After our most recent care conference—and there have been many—Logan hunched over Mia's blanket with a fabric marker in his hand and clouds in his eyes, determined to do the impossible—capture the depth of a father's love for his daughter. Each word is written with precision and care, perfect penmanship serving as lasting evidence of how much thought and meaning he put behind each word.

The quilt lays gently atop an unconscious Mia, tenderly hugging the outline of her swollen, broken body. It's tucked beneath her puffy, bruised arms, the faint pink hues of the fabric softening the starkness of her pale skin. The soft, sweet quilt rises slowly with the rise of her chest, effectively hiding six shattered ribs, a fractured sternum, and a left-sided soft tissue injury—all a result of the life-saving measures taken just four days ago. A quick shift of my glance reveals a bright, sequined mermaid blanket settled near her feet, contributing to the persistent ache of my heart.

Indelible sadness pulses at the base of my throat, blocking the passage of air into my lungs. Every breath is a struggle, barely escaping around the might-as-well-be palpable ball of anguish. Logan stands rigid beside me, eyes glued to his freshly extubated daughter. Now free of her breathing tube, Mia's breaths are irregular and inconsistent, the rise and fall of her chest rugged and unpredictable. It was explained that contrary to common belief, removal of life support does not equate immediate cessation of life. It can take... an undetermined amount of time for Mia's body to surrender to its inevitable parting.

How did we get here?

I close my eyes, momentarily reveling in my loss of vision, my puffy eyes almost impossible to keep open without marked effort. It feels like, forever and yet like no time at all as I contemplate the events that led us here, to this moment that somehow persists despite the unbelievable injustice that this mercurial life has bestowed upon us, upon Mia.

Scans, x-rays, bloodwork, and other tests were all completed soon after she was cleaned up that fateful day to try to determine the level of damage imparted upon her fragile body. A more thorough investigation of her medical chart revealed just how long her heart stopped beating and ceased its delivery of oxygenated blood to her brain—indicating to us that the presence of permanent brain damage was not only possible, but actually very likely.

I can't even remember, really, how many doctors sat with us to explain it all in excruciating detail—their language very matter-of-fact and scientific.

We can't say for sure if her cognitive functions will ever return to baseline.

She's still sedated, but the eventuality of her sedation wean will likely be a painful experience for her, due to her shattered ribs and sternum.

We aren't quite sure why her heart stopped, and we can't say it won't happen again.

Her organ function is steadily declining once more.