All Signs Point To...

I drove by a dead deer on 66 this morning, on my way back to the hospital, and it looked like its head was pointing right at my car. And then I thought, "Oh dear (not a joke!), is this a BAD sign? Is this about Josephine??" And I worried. But then Lucy started singing and it was such a nice song: "Haaaappy Lucy! (Say it Mommy!) Haappy Daddy! (Say it Mommy!) Happy babies, Margaret and Josephine! Happy kitty cats!" that I thought maybe it cancelled out the deer.

Anyway, you be the judge: Today Josephine got another chest x-ray and it showed MORE junk in her chest, not less, which would explain why she's really not much better after seven days in the hospital... So, with that, and a slightly elevated white blood cell count, they've decided she's likely developed bacterial pneumonia. Now she's getting antibiotics in her IV. Maybe this is good?? It could help.

Or, maybe they're just making things up now??

Last night I slept at home for the first time since Friday -- David stayed at the hospital -- and it was very very nice. (Albeit guilt-producing... I felt very bad about leaving without Josephine.) The worst part about this is Josephine's look. She has a very scared, frantic look that she gets during her deep suction treatments, and it's very upsetting. For both of us. I know she won't actually remember this, but what if so much fear, at such a young age, impacts brain development? It's possible, right? All that adrenalin. All those synapses. What if an excess chemical in the brain, produced by fear, causes one to misfire? (This is the problem when you know just a little bit about too many things.) It could make her a little wacky... (that, and the genes...)

Anyway, about the signs. I do see them -- I just don't always know if they're good or bad. Back when I was living in Fort Pierce, working for the Post St. Lucie News, and driving an old Honda Accord that eventually stopped going in reverse (if you can imagine that...), I killed multiple little gray birds with my car. Not on purpose! One or two I ran over, and a third I struck dead with the front grate on my way to work. I remember its little wing flapping onto the hood, "Hello, bird-killer! (Flap, flap!) I'm right here!" When I got to work, my editor removed it with a stick and tossed it under some landscaping. (Remind me to tell my current editor just how easy he has it...) Anyway, since I wasn't doing anything to kill the birds, their deaths were their own doing, I knew it was a sign.

But of what? I still don't know. Things were pretty fun back then.

Two more things to know about signs:

First, sometimes the signs can be false! When David and I got married, there wasn't like an "aisle" to walk up, but there was this little wooden path across the dune to a beach lookout. And first the guests went up, and then the bridesmaids, and then my father and I -- but while he and I were waiting, an old man in beach trunks came up to me and said, "Don't do it!!" And I thought, oh my God, is this a sign? Is he an angel come to save me? Oooh, or a devil! Hoping to lead me astray?? (Again, you be the judge...)

Second: You can not invent them. When I applied to Harvard, I invented reasons to drive thru this residential neighborhood near my house, even though it didn't actually lead to anything, just so that I could, oh! look at that! Harvard Drive! It must be a sign! Cambridge, here I come!!! No... didn't work.

All right. To all of you have offered prayers for Josephine, thanks.