How My Life Looks These Days

Since Tikva was born, Dave and I have worn a purple bracelet that gets us into the ICN because we are Tikva's parents.
It used to be dark purple and said Adam-Spinrad on it, but the name has worn off and the color is fading.
When Hunter left UCSF to go home, his mom's bracelet was completely white.
I look forward to the day when Tikva comes home and we can take off our bracelets.

I officially completely dislike the sound of beeping.
There are so many monitors in the ICN, keeping tabs on everything that goes on in the bodies of these little babies.
They are so important, and some days their sounds blend into the background.
Other days the incessant beeping totally puts me over the edge.
Sometime last week - I think it was Friday - I had one of those days.
The beeps on Tikva's monitors were non-stop and at one point it felt like every single monitor went off at the same time.
Tikva kept setting something off and needed a lot of help getting her breathing back on track.
I was completely drained that night, and couldn't stop crying - I slept like a log, interrupted only by my middle of the night pumping session.

It's been almost 3 weeks since Tikva was born, and I have become a veteran of the ICN.
The machines no longer intimidate me; instead I know what each of them does, what each of their numbers means.
I know most of the nurses, and Tikva has a few who care for her most of the time.
I have a few nurses who are my favorites, and the list of sweet angels who care for and see the bright light in our girl keeps growing.
Allyson, Elaine, Robin, Jane, Crissie, Jennifer, Quendy, Carmen... they make it easier to leave when it's time to go home.

I also know most of the doctors, and we've developed mutually respectful relationships over the past 3 weeks.
They've told us they admire the way we are going through this, our presence, the calm and hope and faith we bring to this experience, the positivity we hold and how good that is for our daughter.
They explain things clearly and invite our participation and input.
They care deeply about Tikva and the other babies in the ICN, and are incredibly committed to their work.
And since we invite optimism, they seem to allow themselves to feel excitement about her progress.

I pump my milk 5 times in a 24 hour period, freezing 5-6 bottles of milk each day.
For the next 4 weeks, Tikva is on a special formula that has a different kind of fat in it, because there is a leak in her lympathic system that is causing some fat to get into her chest.
So until that heals, she can't have Mama's milk.
But she will, so I am keeping the milk flowing by continuing to pump, and saving it for when she is ready.
Today a mom came by and I gave her 10 bottles of milk for her son, who needs more than she has.
That felt good.

The first day the doctor told me that Tikva would have to stop getting my milk for a while until the leak heals, I got incredibly sad.
I felt so much grief about not being able to nurse my child, and not being able to give her some of the (thankfully) abundant milk I am producing.
I felt frustrated at having to get my milk out with a plastic flange and a pumping machine.
I felt sad knowing that there is so much milk just sitting there, and that it would have to sit there and continue collecting for another month.
For the first time in three weeks, I let myself grieve this small loss.
I was also allowing myself to grieve the loss of a normal beginning for my Baby Girl.

My hormones are changing very obviously from pregnant to not pregnant.
Right now they're hanging out somewhere in the middle, which is a weird place.
Some days I am incredibly emotional and can't stop getting teary.
Other days I feel capable and manage to get things done like pick up clothes and sweep the kitchen floor.
I wake up every night completely sweaty and I have to put a towel over my bottom sheet before returning to bed after my 3 AM pumping session.
Dave's mom and aunt keep telling me to wait until I hit menopause...
I am looking forward to getting to acupuncture soon to help rebalance everything and give my body some well-needed nurturing.

My belly is almost completely gone, which is exactly what happened about a month after Dahlia was born.
Breastfeeding (or pumping) is for me a pretty guaranteed way of taking off pregnancy weight.
I continue to eat a lot, though, because I'd like to actually keep some of my pregnancy weight on.
But I'm not sure if my body will let me - I just have the kind of body that doesn't like to keep weight on, even if I actually feel better 10-15 pounds heavier than I have been for many years.
(I know, I know... cry me a river.)

Here's something curious: I kind of miss my pregnant belly.
It feels like ages since I've had a flat tummy, even if it's been just 9 months.
And my pregnant belly with Tikva was so huge from all the extra amniotic fluid, and my last trimester was so highly monitored, I really felt so totally pregnant.
Now I look in the mirror and it feels really strange to see my almost flat belly attached to my body.
I think there's a part of me that misses having Tikva inside me.
I feel that the most on the harder days - the days when the beeps go off a lot on her monitors, when her chest needs to be suctioned a lot - and I just want to take her back inside me and do it all for her again.

Just 2 weeks ago tomorrow, Tikva had her surgery.
Today, the tape was removed from her scar and all of the stitches have dissolved.
It's incredible how fast her little body heals; I'm pretty sure that within a year the scar will be barely visible.
The little nub fell off her belly button and her belly button is shaped like a spiral - super cute.
The soft hair on her scalp is growing back from where it was shaved for all those IVs a few weeks ago.

Today I spoke with the very young father of a little girl named J. Ann who just arrived in the ICN yesterday by medical transport.
She was born by emergency C-section at 30 weeks, and given a very bleak prognosis.
Mom was being transported to join J. Ann and her dad tonight, so until then he was all alone.
He looked so scared, so overwhelmed, and I talked to him for a long time.
I tried to demystify the ICN a little, assure him that all the intimidating machines are helping his little girl.
He told me the people in his church are praying for her, and that the hospital chaplain came by last night to baptize J. Ann.
I felt comforted to know that he has his faith to hold him, and I promised him that prayer is incredibly powerful.
I felt like such an old-timer talking to him, remembering how much scarier it all felt just 3 weeks ago.
Time really does more differently in that ICN...
Please join me in praying for J. Ann and her family.

You Continue to Amaze me

Tikva, you continue to amaze me.
You amaze the doctors and nurses too.
Today, the primary surgeon from the Fetal Treatment Center - the one who spent an hour with us back in February, talking about head to lung ratios, predictions for survival, and intrauterine surgery - came by to check in.
He let us know that Tikva is doing really well, especially considering their predictions when they looked at her numbers while she was still inside me.
He said he is cautiously optimistic - Dave told him to be cautious, and we will be optimistic.

It all doesn't completely surprise me, I have to admit.
We know our daughter, and these kinds of conversations are the visions we have been holding.
Dave has been having these conversations in his thoughts for months, and they keep happening.

Today another head doctor, the CDH specialist who is in charge of the study Tikva is participating in, told us that she'd like to continue weaning her off the ventilation support and take out her breathing tube by the weekend.
It's pretty obvious that Tikva, too, is ready to get that tube out of her throat and mouth, because her little hands keep reaching up to move it, and it makes her gag when she wiggles too much.
And she is a wiggler - a mover and a shaker - these days.
I love seeing her move, wiggling her body and thriving and just being an infant.
I can't wait to hear Tikva cry, cough and yawn.

This afternoon Tikva opened her eyes and looked deeply at Dave and me for a long time.
When Dave gave her a love shower and moved from her face down her body, her eyes followed him.
She has gained 14 ounces since birth and continues to look and feel robust and strong.
Her skin is unbelievably soft and squishy, and she smells good, like a baby, like her.
She is one amazing little gal, and I am one proud mama.

Big Beautiful Eyes

Tikva was amazing on Tuesday night when Karina and I visited her.
Her eyes were wide open and she was so alert, so present... in Karina's words: so HERE.
She was so attentive to my voice, and followed my voice and face around with her eyes that are learning to focus.
Karina said she responds differently to my voice than to others.
Probably because I'm her mama and she's known my voice for many months now.
It was really beautiful engaging with her in this way, and seeing her face with eyes open.
She's so pretty...

Time In The ICN

Time moves differently in the ICN.
On the top floor of the big hospital, 15 flights up, we are nestled in the sky, sometimes even above the fog that floats by.
On a clear day - and we've been blessed with some gorgeous sunny ones lately - Tikva has a view of much of the city, the San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, Angel Island, parts of Marin, Dahlia's preschool at Temple Emanu-El, Golden Gate Park, the Presidio, the white sails of sailboats on the bay.
It's really beautiful, a blessing that when we need to get away from all the machines and medical conversations, we can just look out the window.

Tonight at 2:22am will be two weeks since Tikva's amazing arrival.
Babies have come into the ICN, babies have moved to the less critical care unit, babies have gone home with their parents, and I assume a few babies haven't made it.
I've watched a lot of parents interact with their small children, watched their faces as they take it all in, felt the love oozing out of them, sometimes the fear and sadness, the hope and faith, deep connections with their partners.
I've listened to doctors explaining different anomalies and challenges, procedures and surgeries, with parents.
Watched the babies closely, seen their vivid souls, each doing their important work, each on their own journey.
Reflections and sometimes contrasts of our own journeys.

There is a rhythm to the flow in the ICN, and I've gotten used to it in this short time.
Nurses are on from 7am until 8pm, or 7pm to 8am; changing shifts between 7 and 8, the day nurse exchanging info with the night nurse, the night nurse letting the day nurse know how things are going.
Throughout the day Tikva's nurse makes adjustments, gives her her medication, turns her machines up or down as the numbers on the monitors indicate her needs, changes her diapers, gives her feedings of my milk, draws blood to be tested for its oxygen content, makes notes in a big binder about every tiny little thing.
I told Tikva the other day that I look forward to the day when nobody cares how much her full diaper weighs, how much or what kind of fluid comes out of her lungs, how much milk she is taking in at each feeding.

I've learned a lot in the last two weeks - definitely getting a head start on all I will learn one day in nursing school, and also on the job when I have my first nursing job.
I ask a lot of questions, take notes about the day's events in a journal, and surprise myself by all that I am able to understand and retain about the inner workings of the body.

Then I get oversaturated and I need to turn off all the medical conversations.
I look at Tikva, I look at my amazing little girl surrounded by machines and IVs and tubes and sensors, and I see a being who is the purest form of spirit.
Closer to God than I am 37 years after my own birth, where I find myself returning to that closeness, more and more through each moment of this experience.
I feel as though I would be doing Tikva a disservice if I weren't learning from her.
If I were going through this in agonizing misery, feeling sorry for myself, terrified, holding only to the estimations of all the medical professionals around us.

Instead I look in her sweet face - and she really does ooze sweetness from every cell of her body - and I see her pure soul.
I see the huge journey she is on.
I see the incredible work she is doing to bring her essential energy - all of it - deeply into her body.
I see her healing some very old stuff she brought with her into this life.
I see her doing work that many people don't even accomplish in a lifetime (or more).
I see her desire to trust - herself and God, and the interweaving of the two.
I see her learning to allow herself to be held.

Dave and I are her witnesses on this journey, and this is our gift to this incredible girl who is our own greatest teacher.

And there are days when I feel so sad.
When watching her struggle in her physical body is just so hard and it makes me weep deeply.
There are days when I am terrified of losing her, this child I love so deeply.
There are nights - like last night - when I just cry for a long long time while Dave holds me and feels the familiar warmth of my tears on his face.
There are moments when I am putting my full bottles of pumped milk into the freezer and I see just how much milk is there, waiting for Tikva, and I wonder when she will be able to take it all in.
There are days - like today - when I wish they would stop poking and prodding her and just let her rest.

How would you feel if all in one day you...

* Had a chest tube put in to drain the fluid from around your left lung.
* Been pricked a bunch of times in your wrist while the doctor tried for the umpteenth time to find an arterial line.
* Had two x-rays that required your being lifted up while you were sleeping to be placed on a metal plate.
* Had a long echocardiogram ultrasound to check for pulmonary hypertension in your heart.
* Had your feeds of Mama's milk stopped because they are concerned about lymph (fat) leaking into the space around your lung.

Yes, my Tikva - if I had been through all this today, my stats would probably be down too, and I would be wiped out.
You go through so much in one day, and even if it is all for your wellbeing, I can feel how exhausting it can be.
I look at you and I see someone so much mightier than myself.
I wish you didn't have to be so strong all the time - and I remind you that you can drop into God's palm and let yourself be held, take a break from all your hard work and just BE.
I think about Red Tail Hawk, your animal guide, that power and vision that transcends the physical here and now.
I am in awe of you, Baby Girl, and I hold you all the time in the warm protective arms of my heart.
Hold me in your heart for those times you need a reminder that I am right there with you.
Still corded like we were when I carried you inside me.

One last thing: Dave told me a story the other night that our friend Dave M. told him. It was about a man from South Africa who was the winner of a double marathon there. 52 miles, and he crossed the finish line first. This man only has one lung. That is the only kind of story I want to hear. I told Tikva the story, and assured her she didn't need to run a marathon to prove her might. I am pretty sure she liked what she heard.

Sweetie

Praying With Dahlia

This morning in the warmth of the yellow breakfast nook where we eat, Dahlia took my face in her hands and looked at me really close with her amazing, penetrating blue eyes and the sweetest warm smile.
I held her face right back and said, "I love you."
She replied, "Don't say anything, Mommy. It's a prayer."
I looked back at her in silence and joined her in this prayer of love.

A few weeks ago Dahlia asked me to take photos of her while she played with a paper airplane...

Fragility

Yesterday was a hard day, especially after the euphoria of Thursday.
We all felt weary - Tikva, Dave and I.
I hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before and I felt exhausted and drained.
Tikva was exhausted, too, from all of the excitement and changes of the day before.
She slept most of the day, and needed a little extra support for her lungs well into the night.

My Baby Girl and I are deeply corded, and it was HARD to see her struggle more than she had been the day before.
Moving her into my lap from her little bed was hard on her, and tears started pouring down my face as I watched her struggle to regain equilibrium.
Once she settled down and her numbers improved again, she slept peacefully in both my arms and Dave's.
I looked down at her, stroked her head and face and chest, and just let the tears fall.
I closed my eyes and imagined the two of us completely held in God's palm.

Yesterday was more of a reality check than I've felt until now.
We had a long and highly medicalized conversation with one of the neonatologists whose focus of research is CDH.
It's very clear that she knows A LOT about CDH, and also that she is a researcher and professor more than the kind of doctor who spends a lot of time with the delicate art of supporting the parents of the babies she cares for.
She was inviting us to participate in a study on the use of Viagra to reduce high blood pressure in the lungs of babies born with CDH, and it led to a long conversation about what we might expect from the next 6-8 weeks of Tikva's life.
As she spoke, I got super tired and had to sit down, and I spent most of my focus on making sure that my energy did not become corded with all of her words.
Making sure that I wasn't getting ahead of myself and embroiled in all of the "might, maybe, perhaps, chances of" and possibilities.
Remembering to remain in the right here and right now.
Remembering that first and foremost, I'm with Tikva, and Tikva is here and very much alive and thriving and surprising the doctors who hadn't given her such good prospects when they read her ultrasounds and numbers during my pregnancy.

Here's a study I would love to participate in: A study on the power and impact of love and family and prayer and hope and faith and healing energy work and community support on the healing and overall wellbeing of babies born with challenges and their families. A study on the "unexplainable" and "unquantifiable" things that help a child thrive in spite of what the numbers and statistics could have predicted.

I felt fragile yesterday, and so did Tikva.
It's good for me to let myself feel fragile, to lighten my load by shedding my tears, to surrender the need to be strong and just let go.
Today I talked to Tikva for a long time and I reminded her that it is so okay to be fragile, vulnerable, open, scared.
I reminded her that she is held by God, by me and Dave, by all who love her and hold her and pray for her.
That whether she is working hard or resting, it's all part of the same energy.
That she is part of God at the same time as she is held in God's palm.
That she is MIGHTY - so mighty - and SWEET - so sweet - all wrapped into one.

She slept all day today, and spent over 6 hours resting comfortably on her belly.
And she had her first mother's milk, which I gave to her through a feeding tube that goes straight into her belly.
The really good stuff, the colostrum that is the first milk that came out of my breast after Tikva's birth.
Liquid gold, filled with love and nourishment and support for every cell of her body.
She is going to get my milk every 6 hours for now, and it felt good to go to my abundant supply in the big ICN mother's milk freezer and find the oldest milk to have thawed for her.
I look forward to nursing her directly from my breast - that is a future vision I hold and which makes me smile.

I think what I look forward to the most is hearing her cry once they take her breathing tube out of her mouth.
She tries to cry now, but can't make the sound, though she sure makes adorable faces trying.
I am craving hearing the sound of her voice, and I have a feeling it will be a MIGHTY HOWL.

Tikva's Big Sister

The other day, Dahlia came to visit Tikva wearing her Princess Belle dress.
She was a whirlwind of excitement in the ICN.
On her way out with Dave, she sprinkled imaginary magic fairy dust on anyone she passed by.
Since then, nurses have been telling me they got to meet our adorable older daughter.
What a beautiful being she is.

Dahlia is already a wonderful big sister to Tikva.
I can tell she is eager to start playing with her.
She gives her kisses on her hands.
She asks wonderful questions about the attachments that surround her.
I am grateful that Dahlia is already almost four and a half.
Her ability to understand what she understands, and be with the information and reality, is astounding.
I am one proud mama... proud of both my girls.

Holding Tikva

We got to hold Tikva today...
One of the most unforgettable joys of our lives.
Huge smiles, tears of enormous relief, joyful support from the nurses.
The most peaceful little girl resting happily in our arms.
Rachel, one of the nurses from the Fetal Treatment Center, telling us with a huge smile that they were worried about her before she was born, and now look at us.
Tikva responded so well - of course - and afterwards was placed on her belly for the first time.
She looked so comfortable like that, and was so unbelievably cute peering out her left eye.
I was able to rub her back for the first time... I have never felt skin so soft.

Tikva is off the dopamine she was on, as well as the paralytic.
She is initiating her own breathing, and the ventilator helps her with the pressure.
Each day, they turn down how much the ventilator helps and let her do more on her own.
She is responding beautifully, and I can tell she is looking forward to the day when they take out the tube in her mouth and let her cry and make noise.
For now, she scrunches her face in the cutest way when they are doing something to her she doesn't enjoy, like suctioning the goop from her mouth and lungs.
Today she pooped out meconium for the first time, a whole bunch, and let out a whole lot of farts - this means that her intestines have settled into their new place in her abdomen and started working.
The nurse mentioned the possibility of trying to feed her my milk in a few days... more wow!

She is so beautiful, with a sweetness I have known since I carried her in my belly.
A sweetness I can't really explain, but which you can feel right away.
Her nurse, Chrissy, could feel it, said she adored her right away.
Two days after my birthday, and I am still receiving life's most precious gifts.
Thank you, my Tikva.
You are one amazing wonder of a child, a mighty presence.

Babies, Babies, Babies

A lot of babies have been born lately all around us, and I can't help but believe deeply that these are the little healers who have come to nurture and bring incredible light and love to our challenged world. They are...

Sierra Green, born on the same day as Tikva, June 10th, to Tina and Jason and sister Grace.

Stella Pearl Johnson, born to Hilary and Tyler on June 12th.

Anya Lewin, born to Adam and Svetlana on Father's Day, June 15th.

Hunter, the little CDH baby who was in the ICN when we visited a few months ago, went home with his parents this week.

Yesterday as I was pumping milk in the ICN, I heard the doctors talking to each other about a baby who had just arrived with a right-sided CDH - the kind that is more rare than CDH that is on the left side. I don't know the whole story, because the ICN doctors and nurses can't talk to others about patients. But I'm pretty sure I heard right. The baby and his/her family was in the next room over with privacy screens around them, surrounded by doctors and nurses. The mother was weeping, dressed in a hospital gown and sitting next to her baby. I got the feeling that they didn't know about the CDH until s/he was born. Earlier that day, all the doctors had been called into an emergency in the OR and set-up room, I assume for this baby.

I could feel them so deeply, and I got tears in my eyes and took some deep breaths. I wanted to go and hug the mom, give her an infusion of hope. I told one of the nurses who works with the Fetal Treatment Center that if there was anything we could do to support them, to let us know. She said holding them in our hearts would help. I know the fear and despair and confusion and shock they were probably feeling in that moment, the period of darkness and not knowing, the need for statistics and numbers to cling to. I closed my eyes and visualized golden light surrounding all of them, them sitting in God's palm. Then I took some more deep breaths.

We are not out of the woods yet with Tikva, but it feels as though we are worlds away from that first week in Jerusalem after that first ultrasound. In my tears for this sweet baby and family yesterday, I felt the deepest gratitude for how far we've come. For the twinkle of recognition in Tikva's eyes when she heard me singing to her. My prayer is that this family can feel hope that they will get to see their child's eyes open soon.

Hope

“To hope under the most extreme circumstances is an act of defiance that permits a person to live his life on his own terms. It is part of the human spirit to endure and give a miracle a chance to happen.”

Jerome Groopman, M.D., How People Prevail in the Face of Illness: The Anatomy of Hope

Amen!

Magnificent Day

This has truly and without a doubt been one of the most glorious days of my life.
And it is by far the best birthday I have ever had... ever.
I wanted only one thing for my birthday - a successful surgery for Tikva.
There are no sweeter words to hear from the mouth of a doctor than, "Her surgery was totally uneventful. Everything went really well."
I looked outside for the tenth time today and saw the clearest blue sky and sun shining bright on the bay and beyond, lighting up all the little houses of San Francisco.
How could it go any other way on such a magnificent and perfect day, especially the first such day after 4 days of dense fog and strong wind?
God has been smiling on Tikva and on us for the past 5 months, and She was indeed smiling on us today.
I received the only birthday gift I will ever need... ever.

Tikva is off the paralytic drug now, so she started moving around a little.
She moved her arm up and down and wiggled her toes.
The moment I will never forget today: When she opened her eyes and looked at me, toward the sound of my voice, and just stayed focused there for a minute.
My little girl is a week old and for the first time we were able to look at each other while I stroked the side of her head and face and my breasts responded by letting down milk.

She has a bandage over the scar on her left side where they opened her up to move everything back into place and repair her diaphragm with a Gore-Tex patch.
The bandage is shaped in three little hearts - cut especially so by Tippi, the head pediatric surgeon who did her surgery.
Yes, these are the kinds of people who were holding her today, and who have been holding her since I went into labor.
People with heart and soul, great skill and a desire to help that is exceptional.
How could it go any other way?

Tonight I looked at my little girl in wonder, and really acknowledged what an incredible miracle she is.
I saw her might in that little body, read her purpose in the energy within and surrounding her.
She has big work to do in this life, and she has already begun doing it.
I received a zillion text messages on my phone, outpourings of love and "Yay!" and lots of "I'm with Tikva!"
We celebrated with birthday cake in the family waiting room and shared the extras with the nurses.
And I kept looking out the window and I couldn't help but smile, feeling completely held by something so big and powerful.
Feeling how held Tikva has been and continues to be.

At one point during the surgery, I went into the pumping room with Laurie to pump my milk.
Sharon came in to tell me that a red tail hawk had just flown by the waiting room window on his way to fly by where Tikva was.
Tikva's power animal - a mighty force of nature, symbol of power and vision - visited her and us once again.
Of course... How could it go any other way?

Dahlia came for birthday cake and to see her little sister, and today she was dressed all in white and looked so beautiful and grown up to me.
So capable of being the big sister, stepping up in her life in her own way.
She is so ready to play with her sister, I can just feel it in her when she visits the ICN.

It's 10:15pm and I am sitting on the glider where I sit to pump my milk, in the quiet of our bedroom.
In a few hours it'll be the 18th, and this birthday will become one of my greatest and most important memories.
Today I promised Tikva that I would tell her the story of this day every June 17th for the rest of my life.
At least until the first time she rolls her eyes and says, "Oh no, Mom, you're not going to tell that story again, are you?"

Happy day, Sweet Baby Girl.
Thank you for the amazing gift you have given me today.
Thank you for your hard work, for the way in which you embrace life, for your fearlessness and might.
Thank you for your trust in Source and the incredible part you play in its unfolding and blossoming.
Thank you for being my teacher.
Thank you for being my girl.

Golden Sunshine

After 4 days of dense fog and cold wind, the sky has cleared completely through the entire city and it is gloriously sunny and warm even in the outer avenues of San Francisco.
When the fog came in last Friday, something told me that this would not work at all for Tikva's surgery.
I was right, and I had a feeling that it needed to be sunny and clear for her surgery.
Guess I was right... God continues to smile on our amazing little girl.

Surgery Tuesday Afternoon

Tikva's surgery is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon at 4:30.
She's back on the conventional ventilator, so that her chest is not vibrating during the surgery.
The transition was a lot of work for her little body, and they are helping her get her numbers back to even.
Her spirit feels mighty, though I have to admit that it is hard to see her little body go through so many things in one day.

Without the vibrations of the oscillating ventilator, I could see and feel her strong healthy little heart beating in her chest - powerfully.
She gave me a lot of squeezes today, and every time I tried to move my finger out of her hand, she grasped tighter not letting me go.
Yah, we're tight, Tikva and I.
She communicates with me throughout the day.

It's been a draining day in the ICN, where time moves in a way unlike anywhere else.
It's hard to leave Tikva at the end of the day, though we know she is in amazing hands day and night.
And she knows - as I tell her a lot even though I probably don't need to - that when we're away, we're still in her heart and she is in ours.

I shed some tears today, as her Mama, because it's hard to see her little body go through it all.
Then I take a deep breath and remember that her spirit is strong, and that this is the journey she has chosen.
And we are on this journey together, because we've chosen each other.

Tomorrow, the day of her surgery, is my 37th birthday.
I can't think of a more special gift than a successful and smooth surgery, and the gift of a little girl able to breathe on her own.
I am holding that wish as I get ready to blow out my candles in the hospital waiting room tomorrow afternoon.

Please hold Tikva in the deepest of your prayers tonight and tomorrow and the days immediately after.
She has a lot of work ahead of her, and so do her doctors and nurses.
I truly believe she is deeply held by a hand that is so much bigger than any of us.
And I believe in the power of prayer and lit candles and the outpouring of love and hope that holds us.
I'm pretty sure Tikva feels it too, like arms holding her.
Thank you for all the love.

I'm With Tikva

(How beautiful are these two?)

Tikva had a good day.
All her numbers were good and stable, which is what we want for the days preceding surgery.
It was incredibly peaceful in the ICN and the entire hospital because of the weekend, which was delightful and calming.
A perfect way to spend Shabbat.
We spent a chunk of time reading The Little Prince, then got a visit from Karina, who is always a breath of fresh and full air in any place.
I gave Tikva a spa treatment - massaging her arms and legs and hands and feet with lotion, squeezing her, and stimulating her limbs with some motion since she spends the day being so still.
They try to stretch the length of time between doses of the paralytic drug she is on to keep her from taking in air and fighting the oscillating respirator she is on.
So in between doses, she gave us a little movement - her fingers grasping, her toes wiggling, her little tongue moving, her left eye peeking out, and even her belly lifting.
Can she get any cuter?
And in spite of the movement, which could potentially strain her, all her vital stats looked good.

Her nurse today was Robin, and she is truly amazing.
A CDH expert because she used to work with the Fetal Treatment Center team, and was deeply involved in starting the CDH clinic 9 years ago, which supports the kids as they leave the ICN and get older.
It's something Tikva will get a great deal from in the future.
I learned so much from her on so many levels, just from our conversations today.
And in spite of her knowledge and wisdom from so many years in pediatric nursing and at UCSF, she is one of the most unassuming and humble people I have ever met.
She's working on her PhD now, and was off to the library to do research during her one-hour break in a 12-hour shift.
The women who are the nurses in the ICN and who take care of our babies day and night are angels walking among us.
I can see the halos over their heads - these are some of the most inspiring role models around, both as nurses and as human beings.
They keep us so informed, explain things so clearly, and they care for our babies with pure love and devotion.

I feel so deeply connected to my girl, no less so than I did when she was inside me.
There are probably 6-8 other babies in the ICN, in all stages of development.
Some of the parents are able to hold their babies, and when I walk by one of them, I overflow with joy.
I swear there are no pangs of envy running through me, it really just makes me feel joy.
This is why: I'm with Tikva.
I'm not with any other baby.
I'm not them, and I'm not anywhere but HERE AND NOW.
Sure, I look forward to being able to hold my girl and nurse her.
But until we are there, I do hold her, always, spirit to spirit, in my heart and hers.
When I'm sitting near her and pumping my milk, I know it is for her.
I sit and read to her and talk to her and sing to her.
I hold her hand and massage her soft little perfect body.
I look at her cutest little face and smile.
And when it's time to head home at the end of the day, I remind her of something I know she already knows: That I am always in her heart and she is always in mine, that we're connected completely and no matter what.
I know she hears me, and I know she trusts that.

I can tell you this which I know for sure: Tikva Ahava is a MIGHTY BEING.
She is doing some POWERFUL work in this lifetime, work she began before she was even born.
She is deeply connected to God/Source/Energy and immensely held by it as well.
Dave keeps saying that the kids being born in this time are important beings, and he's right.
There is important work to do in the world, and they are already doing it.
Tikva has chosen a mighty calling, and she's up for the task.
I think I'm going to have a t-shirt made that reads: I'm With Tikva.
Who wouldn't want to be on the side of Hope and Love?

Shampoo

On her second day, Tikva had her hair washed.
I melted when I saw how beautiful she is - as if it were possible for her to be any more beautiful.
She really is cute, and her hair is so dark and soft.
Her skin is soft too, like butter.

Her surgery has been postponed because her oxygen levels need to be more balanced than they were today.
The little lady just wasn't quite ready for surgery yet.
They may wait until Monday or Tuesday, or if it becomes clear that it needs to happen sooner, they will do it over the weekend.
It's up and down with every hour that goes by, and our inability to plan becomes even more apparent than it was during my pregnancy.

I spent a lot of the afternoon next to her, holding her soft little hand in mine.
I have been reading to her from The Little Prince every day - I think she likes it.
We continue to be deeply connected in the way we were when she was inside my belly.
It feels good to be able to touch her softness and feel her strength.

She is an amazing girl in a million ways.
Amazing.

Prayers For Tikva's Surgery

There is a good chance that Tikva will have her surgery tomorrow afternoon.
This is good news - it means that she is stable enough to be ready.
We ask for your prayers that she continues to be strong and stable.
That the surgery is easy, smooth and successful.
That her recovery is easy, smooth and successful.
That her lungs continue to grow big and strong.
That we all continue to trust that we are deeply held in God's palm.

Thank you all.

Looking Deeply Into Love

“'Look deeply into that which you love...That is where you will find the dharma, the Truth, as it is revealed in your life, your situation. Only give your body permission to actively love what it loves. Love is not complete without an active manifestation and expression of it in one’s living actions, thoughts, and words."

Anne Rudloe, Butterflies on a Sea Wind: Beginning Zen

Introducing... Tikva Ahava Spinrad

Dear Family and Friends,

At around 5:00 p.m. Monday, I was admitted to UCSF to have my bag of waters broken in the hopes of bringing on active labor so that Tikva could be born (just a few days past her due date). About a half hour later, looking out at the most incredible view of San Francisco and the bay from my labor room, I saw a red tail hawk fly by - a totem of incredible power that seems to be showing up a lot in our family's life these days. Labor started quickly once the water broke, and our baby girl didn't waste any time.

In the wee hours of the night, at 2:22 a.m. on June 10, 2008, our beautiful daughter - Tikva Ahava - was born here in San Francisco. She came out quickly and easily, and is truly amazing. She is a robust 7 lb. 8 oz. and 20 inches long, came out gorgeous, with a head of curly dark hair and luscious lips. She even gave a little squeak when she realized how bright it is out in the world. The doctors were able to stabilize her right away, and we were able to see and touch her not only as she came out, but also soon after she was born. She is doing wonderfully and receiving incredible care in the intensive care nursery here.

I am doing great - my body seems to know how to recover much more easily the second time around - and will be at the hospital until Wednesday or Thursday. After that, we will all be here a lot to be with Tikva, give her kisses, read her stories, let her feel our presence and continue to know how deeply held she truly is.

Please continue to hold Tikva in your hearts in the coming weeks, as she has more of her mighty journey ahead of her and it is so clear that she receives great strength from all the love and prayers coming her way.

Here are some photos of our beautiful baby girl in her cozy bed in the ICN. She really is perfect.

Lots of love, light and hope,

Tikva, Dahlia, Gal & Dave

Mini Update

Tikva hasn't arrived yet.
She seems to really like it inside my belly.
But she is moving her way down, and I am starting to have cramps and possibly dilating more.
I check in with UCSF regularly, and they will tell me when they think I should come in.
This pre-labor stage could last a while, though I trust that Tikva knows when she wants to be born.
I don't know that I'll be able to make a blog post when we head to the hospital.
But within a few days of her birth, we'll get the word out to everyone.
Thank you for your love and patience and trust.
The important thing now is that Tikva not feel any pressure - from her parents or the immense community waiting for her.
That she continues to listen to her own rhythm of readiness.
That she continues to trust her connection to and belonging with God, Source, Energy.
She's a powerful spirit, and she and God know best.
I trust that, and I trust my body.

Candle Burning

From Tracy, who has returned home to St. Louis from Jerusalem. Thank you, sweet friend.

Dear Gal and Spinrad family,

Just a few minutes ago, after reading your blog, I rushed to grab a candle and my siddur to take a few moments and sit and chat with Gd about our girl Tikva. She has become such an inspiration to me, to so many of us, and she is about to enter into the world in her beautiful physical form and share her glowing light with us in person. I lit the simple but pretty candle and said a special t'filat haderech to wish Tikva, as well as all of you, nothing but the safest and healthiest journeys into this brand new world. I then took a few minutes to have a good conversation with Gd, praying and asking Gd as firmly as I could to keep you and Tikva safe and healthy and to continue to breathe into her lungs the same way as Gd breathed into Adam's lungs in the beginning. I came out of my prayer time with such a good, warm feeling--a feeling that Tikva is not only going to survive, but thrive and surpass any of our greatest expectations. A feeling that no matter what, Gd will be with her.

There was a point today where I was tired (during my workout) and wanted to quit. The first thing that popped into my head was that precious little face, with dark blue eyes and curly dark hair, smiling at me and gently coaxing me to keep going, just as her daddy so often did when we were training together. In that moment, I had a surge of energy and breath and kept pushing my way through. That face got me past the rough patch and helped me to go on to have the best workout I've had all summer.

Already that little girl is changing lives and making the world a better place.

There is a candle burning in St Louis for your baby girl, anxiously awaiting her arrival. May her journey be peaceful, healthy, and full of LIFE.. Ken y'hi ratzon.

We are loving and holding all 4 of you all the way from St Louis,
Tracy and family

Good News

I just got back from the doctor and got great news.
I am 3cm dilated and my cervix is 50% effaced and moving forward into position.
The doc was able to sweep my membranes to continue stimulating my cervix to keep doing its good work.
I am thrilled!
Tikva is doing great and will be coming soon!
Dave is predicting this Shabbat, right on her due date...
I'm off to take a walk to keep things moving downward.
If you feel so inclined, light a candle to welcome Tikva out into the world.

Stars in the Sky

A proverb from my cousin Angela in Paris:

L'espoir est comme le ciel des nuits : il n'est pas coin si sombre où l'oeil qui s'obstine ne finisse par découvrir une étoile.

Hope is like the night sky: no corner is so dark that a determined eye won't end up discovering a star.

- Octave Feuillet

(Somehow it sounds so much more poetic in French, but I did my best to translate it.)

Love, Parts I & II

From the ever amazing Alex.
Dahlia's long-time babysitter.
A friend to our whole family.
Truly wise beyond her years.
And full of pure love.

PART I:
The other day, Stan and I were hiking around the Lafayette Resevoir. I heard a rustling in the plants on the side of the trail, and I looked down. I saw a lizard, little and brown, hard to see. When I got a good view, I saw that she was a pregnant mama lizard. A good sign!!! A little life letting me know that babies are being born everywhere.
The next week, we were on another hike on Mt. Diablo. We had just finished the hike and were driving out of the park. Off to the side, we saw three giant birds circling. Not particularly amazing in itself, but one of them - a Red Tail Hawk - broke away from its circling and swooped down and flew right in front of our car. I was reminded of Leonard Peltier's Prison Writings in which he describes being led to safety during the shooting at Pine Ridge by a hawk. Maybe the spirits talk to us when we need reassurance.

PART II: Tikva's Hat
The hat I made Tikva is extraordinary for a few reasons, the least of which I will describe first. The hat is knitted in an unconventional style (a kind of intarsia, but in the round), and with an unconventional yarn (4 ply yarn tripled, slightly insane, but I had the yarn, it was soft, washable, and it wanted to be a part of this project). In the end, the point is that this hat didn't come into being in the usual fashion, nor at the usual time (1:00 am, when I was supposed to be studying). It was a completely different, and at times more taxing, process than we might expect from the knitting of a hat. Like Tikva, not a hat, but a baby. Come to us in a manner completely her own, marked with worry, but also with dedication, belief, and knowledge that she will succeed, become what she set out to become.
I brought the hat to my Women in Art History class. We were encouraged to bring in our artwork. I presented the hat along with the story of Tikva and the uncertainty of her future. I concluded, "So, I guess this is as much a spiritual offering as a material one." My teacher suggested that I pass the hat around, so that everyone in the class might contribute to the offering. My classmate sitting just to the right of me, Maria, a poet and an incredible thinker, declared, "Oh. She's a Gemini. She'll be fine." I though, oh, thank you for your certainty. I need it. The hat finally reached my professor, artist Juana Alicia Montoya. She held the hat and began to talk about her pregnancy with her youngest daughter, who is now a sophomore at Berkeley High School. She described the difficulty of her pregnancy, and how she had lost the baby from her previous pregnancy. After she lost that previous pregnancy, the late godfather of her daughter (now 15) told her, "I'm going to knit your baby into life." He did, I guess. By the time her daughter was born, he had a whole wardrobe of clothes ready for her. As she told us this story, she had tears in her eyes. She struggled, and your struggle reminded her of her own. Lots of blessings come with that hat.

Love, Alex

Pure Joy

Dahlia twirling at the park a month or so ago...
Clearly relishing in the pure joy of those moments.
May we all twirl as joyfully as we possibly can through our lives.

Beautiful Life

Our sweet and soulful friend Liz sent this photo and email to me today...

"Dearest Gal,

The story I told at Tikva’s blessing was about a statue that I wanted to pass on to you as soon as I had heard about Tikva’s upcoming arrival. When I was in the hospital waiting for Ryann’s birthday I felt so scared. Day after day I waited and hoped she would be ok. The last 2 weeks my mom brought in this woman statue and she sat on my bedside for the following month. Anytime I was scared I looked at her and was reminded of the joys of being pregnant. Her face showed how I desperately wanted to feel. I put her someplace safe over 5 years ago and began my hunt for her again just as I knew about your family. For whatever reason she was not going to be found. In the meantime I had made a little heart sticker with Tikva’s name on it and waited to put it on her tummy to surround Tikva with love. Day after day the heart sticker would float around our house and end up on lunchboxes, jackets, blankies, hair jammies - and I was constantly reminded of your little spirit that is a miracle in you and the miracle that surrounds me with my own kids. So, June 1, 2008 – the month Tikva will join us, so does my beautiful lady. I was looking for a soccer ball in the garage and came across a little box and my heart skipped a beat because I remembered what was inside. Here she is. I am filling her with so much love and sending it to all of you. So is my little Ryann girl. She is fully aware of the situation and adding her special prayers too.

Much love for the days ahead,

Liz"

My Prayer

I am now past 39 weeks pregnant and really feeling the anticipation and excitement of Tikva's arrival.
My prayer as Tikva's due date of June 7th approaches later this week:

For labor that happens on its own before my due date.
For an easy and smooth labor and birth.
For Tikva's strength, wellbeing and confidence - and trust in her connection to God - throughout labor, birth and afterwards.
For all of the doctors and nurses and staff working with us and Tikva to be connected to God and their highest selves in those important moments - feeling clear, rested, energized, inspired, held and trusting.

I have deep faith that all of these prayers are already being answered and will continue to be.

For some reason, today I went online to check which phase the moon would be in this week.
I learned that it will be a new moon mid-week.
Something feels really good about that - new moon is a peaceful time, a time of potential.
Tikva has always felt like an incredibly peaceful spirit to me, and her journey has been so much about potential, hope and trust.

I welcome you anytime you are ready, Baby Girl.