an anger started to boil

Every Thursday I look back at a specific day and time that was spent with my daughter Matilda as she waited for, received, and recovered from a liver transplant. She was in the hospital for 72 days and we remained in NYC until she turned four months old.

October 22nd, 2012 - an anger started to boil

The day before was beautiful. We celebrated Matilda's one month birthday, my hope felt full, and I had managed to keep thoughts of doubt and despair at bay. But it had been a few days with little sleep and the night before was no exception. Matilda was up most of the night gagging and throwing up what little was in her stomach.

The doctors came in to speak with us. I had talked with the dad from across the hall; I knew that his daughter experienced the same episodes of vomiting before her transplant. So when the doctors told me that they didn't know why she continued to get sick day and night, an anger started to boil. It wasn't towards the doctors, they were doing their best. It was just there, boiling quietly. The truth was that Matilda was dying. She was getting sick day and night because her liver was no longer functioning. Her body could not function. But no one wants to say that.

The doctors were amazing. They worked so hard to try and come up with explanations. To solve the problem at hand. To them, organ failure was never the answer, it was just a piece of the puzzle. I never once felt like they weren't doing enough.

But as Matilda continued to get sick every half hour or so, that bit of anger continued to boil. I kept telling myself to ignore it, that it must just be part of the process or one of the stages people talk about when dealing with grief. I waited. I waited for it to go away. To fizzle. The anger that began to boil wanted to ruin my day. It wanted to win, but I was stubborn.

Until I got a phone call that changed everything.

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