Teacher

As the days go by, it's become easy to forget that there are questions about Asher's future abilities.  He looks and acts more normal each day, even with a phenobarbital level that's fifty percent above what's therapeutic.

 Today, he didn't just make eye contact - we practically had a staring contest.   His deep blue eyes opened as wide as ever, and it seemed he was scanning my face as intently as I was scanning his. He would also take time to look around and absorb his environment. As he did, I could see his mind, supposedly damaged beyond repair, processing.

From the department of feeding, Marissa reports Asher showed a gag reflex today. For much of the time I was there, his nasal cannula, already flowing low, was out of his nose because Asher had knocked it out (a good sign in itself). He was breathing just fine without it, and we didn't even bother to fix it while we held him. The IV going into his belly button was taken out last night, and he's now being fed completely by his mom's milk. We were given no word on when a bottle would be tried again, but I'm guessing it will be soon.

Since none of Asher's doctors could attend, the meeting on Friday was postponed. That's fine by me.

I've written before about the sense of community that we've developed and strengthened over the past week and a half. The response of everyone, young and old, with and without kids, has left us speechless. One of the great surprises in this regard has been the sub-community of NICU parents that has come forward to share their stories with us.  Some of the most heartfelt words and kindest offers have come from these parents.   People I've never met have written at length to share their stories.  It's apparent that learning about Asher often takes these parents back to that time in their lives, a time like we're going through now.

No two situations are exactly the same, so these parents are often careful not to compare.  But we all seem to have shared a similar pain and fear.  It's a pain and a fear that I didn't know possible prior to Asher's birth.  One of these fathers, a person I respect a great deal and whose family has been very supportive of us, echoed some of my earliest feelings from this ordeal.  Like me, the father said he initially felt sorry for himself.   I remember in those first days, as I clutched to preconceived notions of what my family should be, among the forest of emotions, I pitied myself.

This father also helped me recall and solidify a thought we had in common, one that signaled the beginning of our recoveries from self-pity.  In his words, he began to believe that his child would be his teacher.  For me, should Asher have special needs, being so close, so inside of this would be completely novel to me.  It would be a completely new way of looking at life, one that scares me less each time my son looks into my eyes.