An Ambulance Ride, Ice Bath, and a Word on Joy.

The week before last Nora came down with “a cold.” That Wednesday, close to midnight, she was struggling to breathe, so when we couldn’t get her saturations to improve, we called 911. Nora and I were quickly transported to Children’s Hospital, and after a few hours in the trauma room, she was admitted to the ICU. She was diagnosed with rhinovirus and pneumonia and eventually transferred from ICU to the medical floor as she began to improve. We made it home before Thanksgiving and we were even able to capture a Thanksgiving photo (above). Not pictured: an alarming pulse oximeter and Nora’s oxygen tank just outside the frame. It’s been a slow recovery process and Nora has needed a few extra accessories nearby (chest therapy vest, and inhalers) since leaving the hospital.

It’s taking time to heal. As for me, between the deep suctioning and seizures in the trauma room and a polar ice bath to bring down a fever in the ICU, there were about a thousand moments I wish I could have taken Nora’s place during her admission. It can be heartbreaking, emotional and numbing all at once to be by her side while she’s inpatient. Tyler and I agree, it’s hard to explain what it is to transition home (emotionally and physically) from these hospital stays. And even as we reflect together, we realize we can’t even fully comprehend what it is to live out emergency situations and hospitalizations with Nora— to be by her side for hours in the trauma room or care for her in the ICU. Because, it’s a tidal wave of instinct and adrenaline — it’s survival, accelerated action, and diving into her immediate care.

Bringing Nora home from the hospital is the process of regaining our footing and finding balance, but it is also a process of healing, in every aspect of the word. Regardless of all the times we’ve done this as a family, I’m not sure it’s gotten easier, after all, trauma is trauma. Our family has been through a lot. And so, we do our best to create room for retreat, nurture, and rest.

But even as we make space for one another, there remains a household of “to dos,” all the things I set aside while running on adrenaline: laundry (I’m about to pull out my bikinis for bras and underwear), groceries (although I do enjoy our “breakfast for dinner” theme), coordinating family calendars, a discussion around money & my tendency to online shop while Nora is in the hospital, and the question that can overwhelm all of us, “How can we avoid this again?”

*Deep breath*

The list above is just part of our family transition home, never mind that we have been in a constant state of adapting and transition even at our baseline and best: Tyler continues to adjust to the demands of a new job (including travel), the baby continues to wake at night, Nora continues to need impromptu support and medical care to help her navigate chronic illness, and Everett continues his transition to kindergarten.

*Another deep breath*

The reality is I feel like I’m wading through concrete mentally and emotionally. Until I heard Everett’s voice this morning (through the background of my internal chaos and problem-solving) excitedly ask, “Can we set up the Christmas tree today?!”

Internally I said NO. Me. Jesse. Who loves Christmastime. I know I need rest and healing when setting up the Christmas tree with my children is an exhausting “to do.” The truth is, I enjoy celebrating Christmas with my children— the way Everett bounces around the living room between the tree and a box of ornaments, how Nora sits by the fireplace sorting through stockings, and this is Penelope’s first Christmas! What a gift.

And yet embracing joy, even Christmas joy, given the context of our life, takes energy.

I think I’m learning that choosing joy, and nurturing joy in my home, means tradeoffs.

I have a lot to let go of this holiday season. And my reality is this: living out joy, today, tomorrow and the next day might look something-like decorating the Christmas tree in a bikini.