Another quiet Saturday afternoon spent in the NICU.  It was difficult to pull Imogen out of bed this morning and then, out of the house. She enjoys a nice sleep-in on the weekends and the weather was so gorgeous out that we walked down the main street in our Greenpoint neighborhood to an extra stop before boarding the train into town. I am definitely switching my commute back to my old trains.  I thought traveling a more direct route to downtown Manhattan would save time on the trips to the hospital but it drives me insane--the trains are too crowded with young professionals.  It makes me lose my patience to be completely surrounded by smartphone zombies with too much hair product and I have to say my mantra of--we were all young once, we were all young once.

Also, there is the happy rat.  I told James a story about my old commute (the G train to the 7 train to Grand Central Station, for those that know NYC).  On the transfer from the G to the 7, I take a steep escalator that allows for a view of an empty lot. It once held a building with apartments and street level shops that was torn down when the station was remodeled to build the escalator. As I reach the apex of the daily escalator climb, I enjoy viewing the transformation of the empty lot over the seasons--the barren winter months of snow dump and melt, the green sprouts of spring, and the lush, overgrown weed trees of high summer.  I was feeling tired one morning, depressed about the nine-to-five cycle of days, passing to months and years, and looked out to see a beam of sunshine hitting a pile of broken bricks in the lot.  It was mid-summer.  The lot is surrounded by walls on all sides with no real entrance--an enclosed piece of paradise in Queens.  In the center of the bricks was a rat, lounging, enjoying the lack of predation and the warmth of morning sunshine, not yet hot or humid.  Butterflies fluttered around the rat, purple thistle still had dew, and birds sang on the branches of the weed trees.  I thought to myself, damn, that happy rat sure has it good. 

James wanted to see happy rat.  He brings his camera with him everywhere. I never saw happy rat ever again but we always look out to see if happy rat is there.  It is happy rat's lot now.  In fact, James was taking a series of photographs from the top of the escalator. I asked him, "What are you doing?" He told me, "I am working on a project about happy rat."  I think he wanted to make a time-lapse film about happy rat's lot or perhaps, a painting. I felt a little blue passing happy rat's lot this afternoon thinking that James may not complete this particular project.  It appears that the lot is being cleared of debris.

James was coughing again today.  He mouthed his name for me.  I felt a little bad because the first series of things I do everyday is basically shout at him to perform his tricks.  The nurse caught me in my "wiggle your toes" command and said, "Oh, he was responding with everything this morning."  Phew. No need to test then.  James reacts the most to music so I hooked up the laptop to his portable speaker. I tried listening to some of the playlists he has on his ipod but we are already slightly bored with those. I have yet to untangle the itunes meltdown that occurred right before he became ill so all his music is on one of his external hard drives (I think?) that I have yet to find.

I then remembered that our very dearest friend, Kevin Corrigan, made a new playlist and sent it to me. Oh, must point out that people are howling outside my window right now as I type this, at the full moon (if you are able, take a peek, it's pretty amazing). The first song on the lineup was a piece by Stan Getz. James practically lit up, his entire face opened up, his eyes, his mouth, it was somewhat uncanny. I do not know what it was about the piece that moved him so or if it was because he recognized that it was from a list that Kevin created (I yelled that bit of information into his ear).  We listened together to the entire playlist holding hands.  He enjoyed it.

The neuro team doctor told me that I will meet with the various teams on Monday to map out a strategy for rehabilitation.  I am hopeful. I have already thought about renting an apartment near whichever facility we choose rather than attempting to move altogether to a new space as a family. There is no way that James will be able to walk up two flight of stairs and I do not want disrupt Imogen's life as she begins middle school next fall.  It is too much to really believe it is happening.  I do not know if he will be in a wheel chair or if he will recover his capability to walk. He's so thin now and has almost no muscle tone. It makes me sad and worried.  He will not move to rehab right away. I have a feeling they will want to keep him in the hospital to continue his antibiotic treatment, stabilize, and possibly, schedule him for oral surgery.

Despite all this, the team is excited to transfer him out of the NICU.

Must get to bed now. The easter bunny has to visit our house.  Imogen asked me if the bunny was coming.  How could I say no?  We had a talk this past winter holiday about Santa Claus--she shared with me her doubts and asked me if I believed in Santa. I said, "Of course I do."  Enough said!

With the full moon, that rabbit will have to avoid many wolves out there with a passion for chocolate eggs. We bought a Star Wars chocolate egg from the Japanese grocery store this afternoon. It was an egg with a surprise Star Wars action figure inside--the woman at the cash register pointed to her adorable R2-D2 that she found inside her egg.  Imogen and I were super excited.  We unwrapped the egg, wolfed down the chocolate and opened the pod inside.  It was a black fighter ship with a miniature stand.  Bummer.  Imogen wished that we could turn back time and choose the box right next to the one we took.

I have other wishes for turning back time.