Waiting
Originally posted August 2013 | Updated for new blog
Reflection: This post captures what I think a lot of NICU families and support people feel: that aching, restless *pause*—where you’re just sitting with your emotions, not knowing what to do or say. “Waiting” became its own kind of emotional labor. It’s something we don’t talk about enough. This entry is short, but it held a lot of weight back then. It still does.
There’s not much to say today.
I know Maliyah’s on ECMO. I know things are serious. I know my sister and her partner are doing the best they can.
But I don’t have any updates. I haven’t heard anything.
I’m just… waiting.
Waiting for a phone call.
Waiting for good news.
Waiting for this part to be over.
And in that waiting, I’m holding my breath. Hoping. Praying. Refreshing my phone more than I want to admit.
If you’re reading this and you’re waiting too—thank you for being here. Thank you for hoping with me.
Reflection: Waiting is one of the hardest parts of any medical journey. It’s the part no one prepares you for. You don’t get a manual for how to hold space when there are no answers. And while I wouldn’t wish that kind of wait on anyone, I’m glad I wrote this down. I want other people—especially aunties, siblings, chosen family—to know: your love matters, even when you’re on the outside looking in. Keep holding that hope. It’s sacred work.
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