Right now Jennifer is juggling food issues. She hasn't eaten all day, in case things progressed rapidly and went awry. That is, the reason for abstaining from food is in case an emergency C-section has to be performed. So, if she eats now, they will back off on the medicines to delay the risk of surgery for at least six hours. Scratch that -- she's had a small amount to eat, and they've given her the same medicine again at the original dosage. Most likely they will adjust the dosage through the night to try to have her ready for pitocin at the start of day shift. It depends on how the medicine affects her, and will be decided four hours at a time.
One interesting thing about this room is that time stops in it. Well, okay, the clock stops in it. We haven't noticed it every hour, but on at least some hours the clock stops and after several seconds adjusts itself and then keeps on going. Must be a precursor to the atomic clock.
We learned the bad news on Thursday night. Jennifer told Kathy that night, so that Kathy could call Bobbie, who had to tell Joanne to arrange for a sub. Kathy also called Gay. Jennifer told her parents. On Friday I called my parents. I also called Tristan at work, and didn't so much tell Anita as sit there and make her guess what the problem was. (Sorry. I couldn't say it.) Jennifer also told Eileen. Of course, all of Jennifer's students heard about it at school (and wrote her lots of well wishes). . . But we have been somewhat surprised at how far and fast the news has travelled, and how concerned and supportive everyone has been.
Jennifer's students of course had no idea what to say but wanted to comfort her somehow. Well, on Friday when I took her to the school to prepare lesson plans for tomorrow, we found a big handmade envelope on her chair full of notes from the students. Some were just intricately folded paper. Others told jokes. (Look on the bright side, now you can eat chocolate. . . At least now you don't have to buy a minivan.) Some just tried to cheer her up. (My mother will cook dinner for you if you e-mail me... You can be mean at times but I still love you... When my sister visits I'll tell her to bring the baby by so you can hold it.) They all said they were sorry this happened. Jennifer loved them. Even -- perhaps especially -- the ones that would have been considered inappropriate by their parents.
To answer two questions: I don't know.
Actually, it answers more than just two questions at the moment. But the two I'm trying to answer are whether we will have a memorial service and the best way to express your condolences.
It is likely that any memorial service would really be to let other people be a part of our grieving. Perhaps this is more important than I realize. Jennifer is not able to discuss the matter yet.
I have already told some folks that whatever expression feels most appropriate is best. Jennifer and I briefly discussed whether suggesting donations to any group would be appropriate. We didn't really arrive at a group to suggest. I do expect that we will collect and save any notes, cards, letters, or e-mails.
We will be benefiting from the generosity of a professional photographer and a funeral home who provide free services in these circumstances. The staff at the hospital has been very supportive -- providing information on coping with grief, making all arrangements with the photographer and funeral home. Even the waiting that's grating on us a bit is because they're being cautious. And I'd rather wait than risk Jennifer rupturing during delivery.
It's now midnight. I doubt you'll be hearing from me tomorrow. If it works out well, we'll be busy with other things. If it doesn't work out well, we'll be overwhelmed with other things.
Thanks, though.
-=-
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