.....so she lays there in my arms, eyes wide open and glazed over. I can feel her labored breathing, rapid shallow breaths barely audible above the hiss of the oxygen tube. Machines beep constantly around her, machines that are responsible for keeping her alive. This one pumps bacteria killing antibioitics into her, that one pumps life giving nutrients into her because she long ago lost the ability to keep up with her body's demand for vitamins and minerals. She also has a tube sticking out of her stomach to help with her caloric intake. Another device implanted beneath the skin to facilitate the frequent iv's. Earlier this week she had to have a chest tube put in, essentially a vacuum line, to keep her right lung from collapsing (again). She's been on the transplant list for about 8 months now. It's too late for that now, even if she were to get transplanted today, they couldn't do it because she's not well enough to endure the additional trauma to her body. My husband has been putting in lots overtime to compensate for my lost income. I've been at my daughter's bedside all day, every day for the last 2 months. She has good days and bad days, though lately just mostly bad days. I think that it's easier for him to put in extra time at work because he can't seem to cope with our daughters illness very well... or at all for that matter. He stays home and takes care of things while I'm up here. I call him at night and I can hear the slurring in his speech, the occasional emotional outburst, the crying. I've told him he's got to spend as much time as he can up here, his daughter needs him. "Momma, this tube is hurting me again..." "That's okay honey, mommy will take care of that..." that's my cue to hit the button on yet another pump. I push the button and a predetermined amount of morphine is administered through her iv line. The machine times out set doses so that you cannot overdose, and it keeps track of how much and how often you use it. This is nice because it means that I don't have to page a nurse everytime Emily's pain becomes unmanagable. Sleep is already hard to come by without having unnecessary pain keep her awake. The nurses, doctors and staff couldn't be nicer to me. They remind me everyday that if Em or I need anything, all we have to do is holler. Some have gone out of their way to do nice things like rent movies or bring games from home. Sometimes the nicest thing is when they simply take the time to talk. Please God, don't let this happen because I'm thinking it.. but I don't think she'll make it to Christmas. The doctors have done all they can do, short of a miracle. I can tell they think the same way as I do, you can read it in their demeanor. Conversations about potential therapies and options have gone from being optimistic to a wait and see kind of resignation. Each step of the way, one less option, a little less hope, til your finally at the point where you're just begging God for a reason to hope. And if hope isn't in the cards, then I pray for a quick and painless death. I'm sobbing uncontrollably now... what if? what if? what if? I cannot tell you what it feels like to be responsible for bringing this on her. Make no mistake, that's what it feels like. The terrible guilt, oh the guilt... Why God, oh why would you do this to a 4 year old? What kind of God lets this happen?! "Why are you crying momma?" "Oh honey, momma's just happy to be able to hold you, is all..." "...don't you worry momma, everything's gonna be okay..." Imagine going through this, knowing you could've prevented it (remember, you rolled the dice on this one) The guilt stays with you forever.