Home of the Four Trans

Yesterday, I turned 28 years old. After 6th grade, I never found February 20th, my birthday, to be much to celebrate about; it was just another day of my LIFE.

This year was different. This year, I realized that my LIFE is worth celebrating because my LIFE brought Justin and Nathan into this world. These two little people who have brought so much inspiration, joy, and laughter into the lives of many gives me more purpose and reason to rejoice than I ever knew.

I realized…without me, there would not be them. And, what kind of world would this be if Justin and Nathan were never here?

So, how did we celebrate? Loi bought killer tickets to WICKED, the musical I had been dying to see! We spent a good 6 hours away from the kids and transcended into another world of Good vs. Evil. The performer in me wanted to leap onto stage and belt out a song or two as I watched the talented actors bring the characters of Elphelba and Glinda and their stories to life. The actresses’ voices were phenomanal and the story line was seamless. I didn’t want it to end…although, the show lasted a good 3 hours.

Who knew I would have the courage to leave my Justin for that long in the care of another person (his paternal grandma). But, with all the stresses we’ve been through in this past year, I think this was a mini vacation we knew we both needed…and appreciated.

While the show (and seats) were outstanding, the best part of my day was coming home to a little surprise from Nathan. He had his auntie, who was caring for him, print out a CARS activity sheet and colored it for me. He labeled the SALLY car MOMMY and the LIGHTNING McQUEEN car NATHAN. We were driving down the road together…”HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMMY,” it said, from Nathan and Justin. Despite all that he’s been through, with us being gone from him at weeks at a time while caring for Justin in the hospital, he still loves me and is still my mama’s boy…so sweet.

Happy Birthday to me!

It’s been about a week and a half since our discharge from CHLA. Seems like forever…

Getting back to the “normal” life, outside of the hospital and the beeping monitors and the frequent visits from nurses and doctors, has been relatively smooth. Aside from Nathan’s crying fest the first two nights we were all home together, he’s been adjusting well. When he hears Justin crying, he runs to Justin saying, “I here, Pee Wee. I, here. It’s OK.” Loi’s back at work. I’m back at home–cleaning bottles, pumping, cleaning, sorting through the stack of (medical) bills.

We’re back in our familiar settings, doing our familiar things. Yet, nothing seems to be the same.

In the past month, my child’s life had ended twice. He got a pacemaker put in. He went through another open heart surgery. He bled a “generous” amount of blood after surgery. He had a stroke. No matter how much I want things to be the way they were, it will not be. Things have changed, perspectives have changed.

We had a meeting with Justin’s cardiologist on Tuesday. I found myself having to relive the entire nightmare with having to recap all the major episodes Justin had gone through. Then, there were plans to meet with more specialists, a neurologist and hematologist. The cardiologist wants to clear the way of any potential blood clotting issues that Justin may inherently have which may have caused the stroke, hence the meeting with the hematologist.

Worst of all, I think, was how we had to discuss about Justin’s leaky valve. From the last echocardiogram done at the hospital prior to discharge, it didn’t seem to get better. My hope is that it will improve as his body adjusts to the new physiology of his heart. For now, his lips are little bit bluer and his color is not as rosy as it had been after the BT shunt had been put in (I looked at pictures to compare).

I dreaded this discussion because it only made the fragility of Justin’s life more real to me. His entire existence depends on this crucial organ, the heart–if it fails, all else will, too. With the valve being as leaky as it is, with no hope of repair, with only medication to help alleviate the stress on that valve, I worry.

I worry: How long will his heart last? Will he make it to the Fontan? Will he qualify for a heart transplant? Can I handle what is ahead?

This morning, I had left the room for a moment and returned to a screaming Justin. I quickly scooped him up and in a sing-song voice said, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Mommy’s here, now. Mommy’s here. I love you.” I hugged him tight, rocked him back and forth, as I smacked my lips against his forehead until his wide mouthed, squinty eyed scream turned into a smile.

I looked at him, serene and content that Mommy had rescued him from his loneliness and thought, “If only easing all your pain could be this easy…if only my kisses and hugs were all it took to heal you…”

But, who’s going to heal my pain if anything were to happen to him?

This battle, of living life each day for that day, appreciating all that life has to give is ongoing. I realize, now, that everyday for the rest of our lives are days of healing, of accepting what is, and letting go of what could have been.

I asked Loi this morning, “Do you think we made the right choices for him?,” referring to the events leading up to Justin getting the pacemaker put in. I wondered what we could have done differently.

“There’s no point in thinking about that, now,” Loi told me. “Don’t waste your energy.”

He’s right. What’s done is done. It is time to move forward and live with the time that we have left. No point in thinking of things that we cannot change.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

and lean not on your own understanding.

In all your ways acknowledge him

and he shall direct your path.

Proverbs 3:5

Ah, my little Justin. He truly is full of surprises. Since the last time I posted, he has hit a few rough patches on the road to recovery.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Justin’s physical appearance matches that of a boxer. He looks like he’s gotten into some terrible fight.

Day 3:

Bruised Eye

Huh? Where did this come from? Seemingly out of nowhere, Justin developed a black eye on his right. This has left all the doctors quite baffled. However, the theory is Justin’s coaugulation issues may have something to do with it. When his blood clotting ability is compromised, he has the tendency to develop more bruises, according to the doctors and nurses.

Respiratory Infection: Pneumonia or Bronchitis or Something

Loi was holding Justin for the first time in over a week when Justin’s lungs seemed to give out as he started taking in deep sucks of air. Loi could see Justin’s rib cage as he struggled to breathe in and out.

Justin was re-intubated to allow his lungs to recover. Before doing so, the attending physician peeked down Justin’s airway to find copious amounts of “gunky, gross goop”. There was no other way to describe it, according to her.  A culture was sent out to find if Justin did in fact develop any sort of infection.

Day 4:

Signs of Infection

All signs in his blood work this morning showed that Justin did develop some sort of infection. The cultures did grow some “rods”, but the type of bacteria is yet to be determined.

Gassiness=Crying

Justin passed a lot of stool and gas, and cried in agony every single time. Tried Mylicon, but to no avail. We pretty much just have to wait it out.

Pneumothorax

In the process of being re-intubated, the team had to “bag” him, pushing oxygen into his lungs. One of the side of the effects is developing a pneumothorax where air that escapes from the ruptured lung gets trapped in between the chest cavity and skin. The nurse and I saw the asymmetry in Justin’s belly, and felt some crunchiness from that area–signs of the problem.

Day 5:

Chest tube goes back in…

To drain the air.

I walked in early morning to find the surgical fellow with a mask on and Justin draped. He quickly explained that the pneumothorax had gotten “bigger” which would hinder Justin’s extubation. The chest tube would be the best solution, according to him. I agreed, stepped outside, and waited for 10 minutes before he completed his task.

The remainder of the day was full of coughing and suctioning. Whatever bacterial infection Justin has has caused him to develop disgusting, thick, yellow to red phlegm. The nurses had to suction him every hour, or as he coughed to clear his airway.  The kid hates it, and cries murderously (or so I imagine from the looks for his scrunched, red face), every time.

His eyes were either rolling to the side or to the back of his head. His left hand was always clenched in a tight fist, while his left foot twitched uncontrollably. He looked like a nervous wreck…side effects of the narcotics, possibly? Argh.

Day 6:

Still intubated, but recovering and stable…

Less coughing and phlegm today, thank goodness. He is much more alert because the drugs finally wore off. I finally got to see my baby again, with his piercing brown eyes. For the first time in over a week, my Justin made eye contact with me, and listened intently as I sang to him:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine/You make me Happy when clouds are grey/You don’t know how much, how much I love you/So, please don’t take my sunshine away.

And, I caught him watching tennis on the TV in his room. Rattling toys, tinkling mobile, and glowing, musical animals couldn’t calm him for the 10 minutes I had been trying. Then, sudden silence. I followed his gaze to the tube. Loi caught him doing this the previous night and turned off the TV. Couch potato in the making…not if we can help it!

The attending and surgeons discussed possible extubation tomorrow if the night goes well. I’m praying that it will.

This is Our Story

Justin is amazing, isn’t he? Goes to show, children are resilient creatures.

I had often been told this while pregnant, and immediately following Justin’s first surgery. And, I suppose, I had this false sense of reality where everything was going to be OK, like one day, he was miraculously going to recover and heart disease would not be a part of him anymore. And, I looked forward to the day when all of his suffering would be a distant memory, never to be conjured up again. I looked to those stories of children who are living with CHD, hopeful that my Justin will one day have a normal, happy life. I relied on medical advancement to continually prolong his life like it was a for sure thing.

True reality is: heart disease will always be a part of Justin and his path is never certain. I am always hopeful that the future will hold many things beautiful and possible for Justin. But, again, I never take for granted what I have today. Each day that I have with him, even if it seemingly is one of our worst days, I appreciate his breathing body and working brain, the chance to hold him and kiss him.

Moms of CHD children to be, no amount of research will ever prepare you for the adventure your little one will take you on. No story will ever compare to the one you will share with your child. Let’s face it: your child is unique. Even if you find another child with the same diagnosis as your child’s, the journey will never compare. Embrace this, moms, and you will be greatly rewarded.

Although our story with Justin is extraordinary, it contrarily emphasizes the ordinary.

The constant theme of every entry is to appreciate each day as it comes, take it one day at a time, take one step in front of the other. Truly, we live each day for that day. I will not think of 5 to 10 years down the line because really, who knows what is going to happen. It is hopeful to think of the future, and plan for the future, but we are constantly reminded to never take for granted what we have today.

We are reminded to appreciate things that we may have otherwise taken for granted: our children, family, friends, health, freedom, food. Being in the hospital, away from home for weeks at a time, eating cafeteria food, bound to a small ICU room, unable to hold my baby without lines and tubes tugging on him, not having all four of us together really, really puts things into perspective.

We do not push through each day just so that we can just get through that day, hoping tomorrow will be better. We live for that day, and appreciate all that God gives us. Because, we know, tomorrow is no guarantee.

So, go ahead, everyone, make your own story. Leave your mark in this world with such profound impact that your legacy will carry on. Justin has and will continue to do so. Proud Mama? You betcha.

We’ve come to a time in Justin’s journey where all we can do is pray–pray and have faith that all he must endure is for great purpose.
We pray with great hope that our prayers will be answered.

Justin had a rough morning yesterday. Throughout the day, the anxiety level was high, with us not knowing which turn Justin’s heart was going to take. Doctors deemed him critically stable. But, those of you who have followed our blog know that Justin and his journey can be so unpredictable. He really is full of surprises.

Loi is much stronger than I am. He can tolerate the constant beeping and alarming of the machines whenever one of his vital signs dip or rise. I, on the other hand, find my breath caught in my throat, with difficulty to breathe. Sometimes I watch. Most times, if a nurse does not answer quickly enough, I look for one. I pace…a lot. Sitting still is almost not an option. I must do something, anything for my baby. So, I stand by his side, talk to him, pray for him.

Today, I told Loi I didn’t know if I could handle it…the hospital, the anxiety of not knowing the unknown. I had to leave.

Faith brought me to my church, looking for some comfort for myself and my family, but especially for Justin. After praying to Joseph, Mary, and Jesus for our strength, I wandered. I needed guidance. A stranger took me under her arm as she saw tears streaming down my eyes when she asked me if everything was OK. She said, “You don’t know me, but let me help you.” She let me talk as she listened. I’ve been told to be strong…and, I try, so desperately. Tears are the last resort, when my body can no longer handle the immense emotional buildup. My baby’s life ended twice, yet, I did not shed a tear. I reclude to a corner of some empty room and release. I am told to be strong. And, I try. But, sometimes, it is too much.

I asked the parish father to visit us and Justin at CHOC for some guidance and prayers. This evening, he arrived with a relic of St. Cabrini’s habit. He told us to pray for every miracle. St. Cabrini is known for healing children and parents who are unable to conceive. He prayed for Justin’s strength and recovery, and for all the angels and St. Dominic to watch over him.

We pray–Loi silently, while I speak to Justin, the saints, the Lord.

CHLA is scheduled to arrive for Justin at 5AM this Monday morning. His surgery is scheduled for 10AM.

I beg all of you to please pray for our little Justin. He deserves everything because he has given us everything.

Thank you again for all your support, love, and prayers.

God bless.

There’s too much that has happened in the past two days, yet, as always, never enough time to express it all. What I want to tell you all is that my baby, Justin, is so incredibly strong. His life ended not once, but twice, in two days. On Wednesday, his choking episode which led to his heart to stop lasted for 8 seconds. Thursday night, just as we thought we were out of the woods as the doctors were ready to attribute the choking episodes solely to acid reflux, he choked again. This time, his heart stopped for 30 seconds. That’s half a minute!

Miraculously (and, yes, I note MIRACULOUSLY), at each episode, my son revived himself back to life. There is so much doctors cannot explain–especially how his heart just stops without any sign of desaturation and decrease in respiration rate. Both times he came to life himself without any CPR or oxygen. We simply tilted his head back, cleared his airway, and he seemed to come back on his own.

One doctor tried to associate these episodes to acid reflux alone. But, Loi and I know better. With Justin, there is never any clear cut answer. Our Justin is special, everyone. We can truly say there is no other like him. Nothing about him is textbook–his anatomy, the trials he’s faced after every procedure (i.e.; bleeding debacle immediately following his BT Shunt Procedure, choking episode and arrhythmia a day following his cath procedure).

Let me tell you this. A wise man person will acknowledge:

1. what he does not know

2. that Justin is different…there is no other like him, and no book will tell you how to diagnose or fix him. It will take a little piecing of puzzles, and thinking out of the box.

3. that perfection does not exist, and that there is no perfect answer

We are blessed to be among such wise people at CHOC–nurses, doctors, cardiologists. They all worked diligently with Loi and me to create the best plan possible for Justin’s immediate life.

I am fine right now. But, I cannot tell you the immense stress Loi and I experienced yesterday as we were faced with a critical decision of how to maintain our baby’s life. We watched as his heart rate continue to drop with no apparent reason and decided it was time to get a pacemaker in to keep him safe. I was scared, to say the least. Scared of losing my baby. Both times, I had to stand and watch as Justin’s heart stopped, with him laying lifeless and blue in his crib. All I could do was stand and watch as a swarm of medical people crowded around his bedside, ready to resuscitate him back to life. My baby, was laying there, and I felt so helpless.

There’s too much to say, and I must go…I need to return to my baby who is now intubated and sedated in his crib. I watched tears fall from my baby’s paralyzed baby yesterday. He hurt, but he could not cry, could not move. He saw me, with his eyes, through his puffy lids. He asked me, “Why, Mommy.” He’s but an innocent little child, everyone, and he’s walking the steps of a mighty man. And, somehow, everyone was sympathizing with me. He’s the one who was hurting, the one who could not speak and decide for himself. He is the one who cannot understand, cannot comprehend why, why, all these people were hurting him, and Mommy, the one he trusts so much to protect him from all harm, was not warding them off, but allowing them to inflict such pain on him. I had to pass my child over the doctors for a second catherization procedure in 3 days for a temporary pacemaker to be put in. I lost it as I held his head while the anasteaologist placed a mask over his face while he screamed his face and eyes red. He stared at me the entire time through those squinted, screaming eyes, asking me, “Why, why, Mommy. Help me!” He was scared, but had no choice. I made the decisions for him, I had some control. He had none. Yet, doctors and nurses sympathized with me, apologized to me, felt bad for me. They asked me if there was anything the could do for me. “No, just help my child,” I thought. And, they knew that that is all they can do.

Everyone, the doctors and nurses all tried their best. And, the Lord is watching over my family and baby. He told me, “Do not be afraid.” He gave me a sign that everything was going to be OK…whatever that means.

I must go. Please continue to pray for my baby Justin as he will continue to fight for his life. His second heart surgery is scheduled for Monday. Justin will hopefully be transported from CHOC to CHLA today, when a bed is available.

There will be more tests, more medications, more pain from needles, poking, prodding.

Thank you everyone for your support.

Can’t ignore the signs when it’s blinking and shining so brightly. It’s practically screaming!

Have you ever read Paolo Coelho’s, The Alchemist? The underlying theme of the book is: “When you want something, all the world conspires in helping you to achieve it.” And, you are to recognize and follow the “omens” presented to you in everyday life–this is how the world helps you to achieve your dreams.

One morning last week, I turned our plasma on a rare occasion to find an image of an enraged mother protesting Cigna Healthcare Insurance for denying her 17-year old daughter coverage for a liver transplant (this is Cigna’s side of the story), crucial for her survival. Intrigued, I continued watching to learn that they considered the young woman’s case “experimental”, and that the chances of her recovering successfully from such a procedure would be minimal. Doctors had given the young woman a 65% success rate. The mother fought for her daughter’s life, as she brought nurses and friends to Cigna’s local offices, rallying for an overturn in their decision, and raised attention in the media. Finally, Cigna agreed in this “rare and unusual case” to provide coverage for the transplant, and her daughter’s aftercare. Turns out, the decision was made too little, too late. Just a few hours after the decision overturn was made, the 17-year old passed away.

I thought, this could be Justin one day, laying in that hospital bed in a medically induced coma, awaiting a transplant. His life would depend on it. But, the insurance companies or medical professionals would say, No!, he’s not worthy of it.

That night, as Loi was putting Nathan to sleep, and Justin laid soundly in his crib, I flipped through the channels to find a special on PBS about Rich Dad’s Guide to Wealth, hosted by author, mentor, and millionaire, Robert Kiyosaki. Intrigued, I watched as he gave simplified tips on how to build our financial statements with assets. Property would be an asset if it generated income for us, whether we worked or not. Equity is not an asset if you’re making mortgage payments; this would be a liability to you, asset to the bank. Simple things like that. Understanding and applying concepts such as these, according to Kiyosaki, would allow us financial independence with accumulated wealth.
Next morning, I told Loi about the 17-year-old girl. He responded with, “See, that’s why we need to be rich!” so that we can pay for the transplant ourselves if it came down to it.I thought about it. More than ever, money had value to me. I want to have lots of it. “Not want,” Loi said, “We need it.”

My dream has always been to be the best mom. As much for women’s rights and closing the gender gap as I am, I have never strayed from my traditional views about women and motherhood. We’ve been empowered by this ability to bring another life into this world–we need to step up to it! This is one more way of becoming the ultimate caregiver and provider to my children–to generate a substantial income. Not six digits, ladies and gentlemen. No, that would not be enough in this money is power world. Millions is the goal.

I looked at Justin that night and told him, “I’m going to be rich, for YOU!” I told him to keep giving me those squinty-eyed, open-mouthed smiles to remind me why I need to keep pushing…for HIM! Should he leave me before my goal is reached, there will be a foundation opened in his name. He will live on.

The plan is to invest in some real estate during this economic downturn with hopes of future returns…among others that I will not discuss until it actually materializes. I can be silly, I know. My dreams can be far fetched. And, perhaps my reasoning doesn’t even make sense to some of you. But, the signs are there…and, I’ll take what I can get.

To you all, follow your dreams!

Twenty seven years of life (almost thirty for Loi), and never before such a wonderful Christmas. The obvious: Justin made it this far, and actually had the health to enjoy it! The not-so-obvious: Christmas had such great meaning for all of us.

Forget about the presents–the hunt for the perfect (material) gift eluded me this year. Standing in line among the mounds and mazes of toys and clothes galore, swerving Nathan in his stroller through the flocks of running children and mindless people, with wide shopping bags hanging from the handles, didn’t faze me. The three day countdown with 25 gifts left to buy? No biggie. I was buying gifts for people who had every (material) thing–just different versions of it. The perfect gift for anyone on my list simply did not exist. How true is the saying that the best things in life cannot be bought. And, it really is the thought that matters.Wow, it’s like all those life’s lessons taught to me as a child finally makes sense, now. Crystal clear.

As for me? I didn’t want any (material) thing…and, meant it.

Come Christmas morning, I had everything–my babes, my man, and us, together. Justin’s WAAAAAHHHH! cried, LIFE! Nathan’s MAAAWWWWWMEEEE screamed PURPOSE. I am a mother with my children. I am a wife with my husband. No amount of money or worldly possession could ever buy me what I have. My boys, they’ll learn. Their youth is meant to be enjoyed with presents and toys and Mommy embarrassing them. Nathan ripped open his packages from us and smirked, “It is mine!”, after realizing we had tricked him into thinking the unwrapped Bob the Builder vehicles and Cars! race track he found earlier last week were not his, so that he would not open those. After devouring 3 of his own, Nathan helped Justin open his gifts to reveal a furry, pink, half-foot Piglet, and a Leapfrog caterpillar toy. All the while, bewildered Justin just stared at his big brother as he pressed the multi-colored buttons on the caterpillars, showing him how to make music. So intrigued by his older brother already!

Fun for me meant dressing them up in matching newspaper boy outfits–caps, black booties, and all!–and, taking pictures to remind them of it. Between our two large extended families, we celebrated Christmas 4 times! The boys are definitely not without–material or not! Hope you all had a memorable Christmas/holiday!

The current state of our house–three laundry baskets full of folded clothes, yet to be stored away, two hampers full of dirty laundry, Nathan’s balls strewn about, unwashed milk bottles by the sink, a half eaten bag of potato chips, stacks of unopened mail–is a metaphor for our life. A mess.

I look at the mess that is my house that is my life. I remind myself:

My children and I have clothes to wear despite the endless piles of laundry.

I have food to eat as unhealthy as it may be.

I have my Nathan here to scatter his toys about.

I have my Justin here to feed from these bottles I must clean.

I have a milk supply and my health to care and clean for my children.

I have the financial security to pay for our bills.

I have my husband here to be upset at for not cleaning and contributing to the mess (hehe).

Everyday is thanksgiving day in our household–minus the turkey, roast beef, ham, and potatoes galore– with Nathan and Justin gracing our lives with theirs. We truly do not know what tomorrow will bring–ever. Just as Nathan overcame one fever and stomach bug a week ago, he caught another this week, now, with a runny nose and croupy cough. Then, there’s always his wheezing, eczema, and food allergies. Justin–well, his lips are turning bluer indicating the need for his second surgery soon. And, with that, are greater uncertainties. We are constantly aware of the frailty of their lives, and regardless of how overwhelming the circumstances with them or with work, family, or household condition may be, we pull ourselves through each moment of the day knowing that we still have that day. To live. For Us. For Them. As I stick a syringe full of medicine down Justin’s throat, I am thankful that he has only 4 medications to live by, and for the medications to help him live. The cries that irritatingly wake me from my two hour naps (no more slumbers for me) remind me that there is still breaths of air in those little bodies. The drama at work (for Loi) is consumed by the fact that he has a means to support his family. As small as our house may be, we do have a roof over our heads (and next to the beach, nonetheless!). Life was never guaranteed to be easy. We both knew that. We grew up having to work a little harder than the next person to achieve our goals–obtaining that “A” grade in a class, gaining respect in the office and within our own families. But, given our opportunities, coming from affluent families and are educated, life was never too much to bear. Even as we hit this major milestone with the birth of Justin, we’re able to handle each battle as it comes–in bits and pieces, and with the support of our families and of each other. No load is ever too much when broken into parts. So, I looked around my living room, with the clothes, toys, drinks, and food, I listened to the little grunts and snores coming from my men, big and small, and decided to use this time to clean. First went the folded laundry. Then, slowly, but surely, went the rest. Just when I’m ready to throw in the towel and go on my “why” tirades, I remind myself of each little blessing. These few weeks have been challenging–to my faith, spirit, body. Many times, I’ve asked myself why. And, more determined than ever, I really wanted to know why, and was trying every way to explain. But, reality is, no person knows…only He knows. As humans, we can only speculate, relying on science and sometimes feng shui to give us those answers as to why some have the fate they do. With each discovery or speculation is human error. Human error. And, with each error is greater discovery and gain of knowledge. Frustrated and resentful I may be from day to day, but my intuition tells me this “error” was meant to be. It’s strange to say, but I somehow always knew that my children would be something else, something extraordinary. And, the minor trials along the way have led me up to this point, allowing me to grasp the situation as I have. With this error, I’ve gained greater awareness of the downtrodden and greater acknowledgment of my blessings. I’ll still have those days–wondering why–because that is just a part of human nature–to wonder. But, for now, I’m surrendering all to Him. As blind sighted and naive as this may sound, I’m letting go and allowing my faith to lead the way. I’m allowing all things to be as it should.

Being one of the first to marry in our social circle, we were often asked, “So, how does it feel to be married?” Surprisingly, the idea of legally and religiously binding our relationship did not change the dynamics of it all after doing so. My answer was always, “The same.” And, even now, with Nathan, and especially with Justin, I still feel the “same” about our relationship–that somehow we fit together so perfectly. For three weeks, couped in our 800 square foot guesthouse, I attempted every technique imaginable to help Justin overcome oral aversion. After two weeks of battling acid reflux and a cold, and experiencing pain as he drank, he developed an aversion to anything that touched his mouth. By the end of the week, when his feeding had dropped to half of the recommended volume required for his weight, I really had it. I mean, my sanity was on the brink of insanity. I had done everything the doctor had recommended short of changing his medication to a stronger prescription, Prevacid. Yet, I refused to give up and pass the task on to give myself a break. I’m his mother for goodness sake! “Help me, ” I prayed, “please give me strength.” Enters Loi. I am reminded that we’re a team, where one’s weakness becomes the other’s strength. He relieved me of feeding duties for 3 days as I spent time with Nathan, taking him to the park and mall, and just getting out. For 24 hours, every 2 hours, Loi woke Justin to feed (even in the wee hours of the night). Turns out, all Justin and I needed was a break from each other. Though I never showed my frustration with Justin, he somehow sensed it, and became frustrated as well. When Loi took over, Justin regained his confidence and stamina to drink more and more, though not quite as much as before. “Peaks and valleys,” my husband reminded me, “peaks and valleys.” And, so is the life with our little one.