On Ava + Willow

By | #teammikaere | No Comments
I’m just… devastated. This morning I learned two beautiful girls with NKH have gained their wings. 

I hate NKH. I hate it I hate it I hate it, I hate that it’s not malicious or intentionally awful, but that it just is what it is. Science, in the most brutal and matter fact way. That a single gene doesn’t produce quite the right protein, which means a teeny tiny amino acid can’t be broken down. That smallest of small changes means that entire lives are changed, children die before they’re meant to, they suffer seizures, aren’t able to control their bodies, can’t see like everyone else, can’t move, or play, or live independently. No running or dancing or futures like we dreamed of for our babies.

And death. All the time the death. And the grief. The grief. These two sweet girls were SO LOVED! They were both so beautiful and amazing and so so so fiercely loved. And now two families are hurting, in a way I don’t and can’t understand because it hasn’t happened to me. Yet. It hasn’t happened to me, yet.

But today isn’t about me, and my fears about our future with Mikaere. It’s about these two beautiful sweet girls who deserved more. Who are so loved, and desperately missed.

It’s for all the kids who have gone before them (Alexander and Arthur and Kaleb and Halle Mae and Cathryn, Maynak, Gregory, Siem and and and…), and all the kids who come after, who are yet to join our little community. It’s for all our NKH kids who, with a gene therapy cure that is IN THE WORKS (that’s been proven to work, that is so close I can taste it, a cure that is practically tangible except for the complete lack of funds) would be living completely different lives. It’s for a different generation of NKH bees, who one day might not have to suffer.

Today I’m donating to Joseph’s Goal for NKH Research in Willows and Ava’s name, and I’m holding my boys a bit closer, a bit tighter. I’m remembering Willow and Ava and the many others, who are so loved, still. Just like I love my boy.

Fly high, lovelies. We miss you so much already x

PS – There is a fundraiser happening for Willows family here: justgiving.com/crowdfunding/willows-fund and you can learn more about beautiful Willow on her page: facebook.com/willowwarriorprincess
There’s also a fundraiser for Ava’s family, here: gofundme.com/for-ava-marie

On School

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

One of things that has happened in the last little while is that Mikaere has started going to school a handful of mornings a week.

This is a huge change for everyone, and I desperately wish it hadn’t happened in covid times when weighing up risk and quality of life didn’t feel so dire. But, this has been in the works for 2.5 years, delayed in part by covid (in part by a really rubbish SNAS team – the special needs assessment service, I wish they would just used the word disabled, all children have needs, you know?)

So, knowing that the school gets it, they’re full of vulnerable children with complex medical needs too (some even more so than Mikaere), and there are risk assessments and policies in place – it’s possibly the safest place, other than home, he could be right now. Plus, he loves it.

Right now we’re working on building relationships, between them and us, so they can get to know Kai and his quirks.

Let’s be clear though, my mama heart hates this. After being told NKH is terminal and our days together are limited, and precious, the idea that he’s to spend HOURS away from me, from his family with people doing their jobs and not for love is just unfathomable. (Don’t get me wrong, I believe his team should be paid and they’re great and they do care about Mikaere, but let’s be honest, if anyone of them won the lottery, looking after my son at school is probably not going to be on their todo list).

On the other hand, I can’t give him the engagement at home, the variety or the social stimulation he can get at school. I don’t have the capacity, and I hate that too. I haven’t yet had to drop off and leave him. They’re allowing me to settle him (though it’s clear now, weeks after he’s started, that he’s fine without me).

But eventually, I’ll have to leave him there. Not looking forward to that day. So, rock and a hard place. Knowing something is what it is, and wishing it wasn’t, well, that’s a familiar spot to be in.

Hey ho, onwards we go. School. It’s happening.


On unnecessary, ableist pressure

By | #teammikaere | No Comments
I’m over reiterating this, and frustrated that it’s a conversation we have to have again and again. For some, the UK is opening up and returning to some form of normality. For people like us who are vulnerable or protecting the vulnerable, we watch with envy because the world is not safe for us. People who aren’t at risk and don’t get it don’t wear masks, they aren’t willing to get vaccinated. They broke lockdown to have raves, and they pressure our nurses to break shielding and safety rules.
It’s frustrating to have to remind ourselves and others: we don’t want to be in this position, we HAVE to be in this position. We’re strict with our bubble for good reason. If Mikaere were to catch covid, it’s likely to be FATAL for him. The last time he got a cold that turned into a chest infection we were fighting to keep him out of ICU. The resulting seizures were devastating. He suffered. The last time he went into ICU, we also ended up on END OF LIFE CARE in hospice. Mikaere catching Covid would be an unmitigated disaster for our family.
We’re not unreasonable people, you know? Everyone in our bubble lives by the same rules. We haven’t been out in the world for non medical reasons in I can’t remember how long. We haven’t seen our family, friends, the inside of stores, people on pavements in A YEAR AND A HALF. Sam desperately wants to run outside for the ultramarathon he’s training for, that’s he’s had to cancel twice. His sisters just had a baby that we can’t meet. I desperately want to see my friends but can’t. Kai is missing out on 90% of his therapies because extending our bubble is too dangerous, and has literally lost skills because of it.
We’re not draconian gatekeepers though. If someone genuinely wanted to join our bubble, it’s possible. They just need to isolate, get a negative test and agree to the same conditions we live with. A handful of close family/friends have isolated to see us, sometimes taking annual leave. We’re grateful our loved ones are understanding and happy to see us in a manner that doesn’t endanger Mikaere or put him at risk.
Going the other way though, we’re strict about keeping Mikaere safe. If a friend isn’t able to isolate we don’t see them. If we thought for a second one of our nurses was engaging in risky behaviour, putting Mikaere at risk, we’d immediately remove them from the package. That’s hard, because we rely on our nurses to get through every single day. We can’t be everything Mikaere needs and have to trust them implicitly to keep him safe.
We have to be that strict, that sure. The world is unsafe for the vulnerable like Mikaere. It’s even clear in the data: since relaxing the rules, accessibility has reduced, the daily positive test numbers are going up, and they’ve doubled in the last week. Mikaere can’t be vaccinated and the risk is high. So we stay in. We don’t go out (even though we desperately want to) but it’s WORTH IT to keep Kai safe.
Having to remind people over and over that our rules are there for a reason? That our rules are not to be “fought” against because of some minor insecurity or lack of patience? Blah. If you have never had to consider the actual death of a person you care about as a very real, very literal and likely consequence of your actions, you’re living in a world of privilege that not everyone has. And that’s not an exaggeration. That’s our life.
I mean, could you look at that beautiful wee face and decide to make his world a less safe place? I’m just so frustrated you guys. Why do people not get it?

On visiting the A&E

By | #teammikaere | No Comments
It’s not the first time we’ve had to call an ambulance this year. It doesn’t get easier. The counting of the seizures, timing them, logging the presentation. After we give the second buccal, we’re meant to call an ambulance, but I don’t want to. Not really. I don’t fancy spending hours in a&e, holding down my boy for bloods. (That’s not why, though. The why is that I don’t want this to be beginning of the end, I don’t want this to be a deterioration, but I don’t let myself think those things. Instead I think about the uncomfortable chair and the boredom and the endless waiting and the child with the disorder so rare people just ‘pop in’ to introduce themselves and say hi).
So instead I call our critical care nurse, and let her convince me. She clears the way. When they arrive, the ambulance service already has Mikaere’s directive. We’re ready and waiting, and so we head right out.
Thanks to our nurse, the paeds A&E knows to expect us, which means we go right into Majors (it’s busy. The other two bays are already full with a broken ankle and a concussion. Usually they’re empty).
Triage is quick. Seizure frequency is up and drastically different from his baseline. We’ve given emergency meds twice and the seizures are still breaking through. We’re here for a review, and to rule out any acute indications that would mean a symptom stay.
The physical review is clear. No red flags. The bloods come back clear. Infection markers are low (so no infection). Everything looks fine.
At this point we’ve been in the a&e almost seven hours. The last four have been seizure free, and as there are no acute concerns, they’ll send a message to his neurodisability consultant to follow up, and they wave us out.
Grateful to be home. Hate seizures. Hate that this is happening with more regular frequency.
Hey ho. Life with NKH, hey?

This Faaace

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

This is the face Mikaere makes when he realises he’s spending the day with his nurse, and not with Mama. I think that face says so much, because it’s clear: with her he can do more, there is more fun and there is more attention (which is fine, because, that’s the point of a 1-1, right?)

We have a really generous package which allows for a significant amount of day/night help. Which we’re grateful for, absolutely. But also… there is that little kernel of guilt and sadness that, unlike a neurotypical family, we aren’t enough. As his parents we can not provide the round the clock care he needs (and we know, because we tried in that first lockdown, and it was awful for everyone). We literally don’t have it in us to be everything he needs, and when we try, it literally comes down to “how do we get through the next five minutes” (or ten minutes, hour, day…) and all the fun, all the engagement, all the therapy is lost, and his skills backslid. Also, knowing he’s palliative, and his life is limited, the quality of his life is really really important to us. And there was a significant drop because, bluntly, we didn’t have the capacity, and were running in the at minimum “keep him safe’ mode.

With the support of our nurses, fun for Mikaere has returned. Play, and therapy and just, intense the 1-1 attention that he needs to engage with the world (and needs, to keep him safe) – all of that is possible in a way it wasn’t before.

We’re also grateful that because of the sacrifices our nurses have made, isolating like us, in the extreme, we’ve been able to have them join our bubble. Without their willingness to separate from their friends and family (and walks and shops and everything else) we wouldn’t be able to accept their support. We’re so so grateful for our team.

So yes. That face. Worth it, hey?

Isolation and Backsliding

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

We’re struggling. Without our giant team of therapists and nurses and all the many many people in our home who help us help Mikaere… we’re operating at a completely different level to pre-covid. The bar is much lower. Trying to get stretching and physio and therapy in…

Bluntly, it’s not happening, and I can see Mikaere’s development backslide as a result. It’s heartbreaking, and managing the guilt of we’re doing our best and knowing that our best isn’t good enough… because it can’t be. Two people can not replace the team we had. We’re trying to be everything and… we can’t. We can’t be night nurses and physios and SALTS and CCNs and OTs and vision therapists. That list doesn’t even include the fun groups, the social sensory time, or swimming or yoga or horse riding. Trying to find the mental capacity during the day to get in the basics of stretching and the physio and the equipment… it’s not happening.

We pulled out the walker today. The idea is not for him to walk, but to spend some time in a different, upright position, feeling weight through his legs and ankles. It’s been a while.

He spent a good five minutes of the fifteen he was in it not wanting to put his feet down. He’s miles away from where he was, and just… it’s hard.

Quality of life wise we’re doing our best, but how do we calculate risk/reward in this case? The risk of allowing people into our bubble? Most of the UK has normalised living with Covid. But when the risk for us is death? How do we normalise that? Is that risk, his death, worth allowing our team in to help support us support Mikaere? To give him a better quality of life? In NZ, our family is a vicarious no, because they’ve normalised life without Covid. In the UK, our friends shrug and ask what would need to happen for us to open our doors, and he’s terminal anyway, so shouldn’t we bet on quality over quantity?

I’m torn and I’m scared and I don’t have the right answers. I don’t know what the right answer is. How long can we keep living in isolation like this? It’s been months and months and months.

I can’t help but feel like there is no right answer, and either way we’re failing Mikaere. On the up side we found out it costs half a million pounds to hire a private plan to fly us to NZ. Where we could be safe. Anyone have a half mill handy they want to donate to our covid-safe migration? 🤣 I wish!

On the The Online Charity Pub Quiz

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

TLDR: Quiz was a raging success. We’re extending the quiz slightly for the next week for those who couldn’t make it – for a £5 donation, if you can correctly guess the movies and characters from the picture rounds, we’ll put you in the draw to win a surprise, silly, light hearted prize.  Photos under the post!

Donate here:  http://paypal.me/teamMikaere
Draw will be made on Friday 31st.
Rules: Open world wide. Add your answers in the note (please also untick the goods and services box, else the transaction fee will come from your donation).  Donations will be matched, so please dig deep!

Additional side notes: #5 – any of the movies he appears in is fine. It’s hard to know exactly which film this image is from!


WELL! I don’t even know where to start – the online pub quiz was a raging success!! Tony and Tess did a PHENOMENAL job of running our quiz. The rounds were hilarious, some questions were easy, others were more difficult (we’re rubbish at quizzes, so I was pleased to be able to answer some of them – though I found the music round to be particularly entertaining!)

There was an NKH round which, if I’m honest, I struggled with. I did a bit of a spiel and honestly, I hate doing the spiel. We do it because spreading the word about NKH and the realities of it is important, but oh. Telling people your kid has a terminal disorder, and is likely to die and lives a really grim reality is emotionally hard. I’ve been doing the spiel for over three years now, and each time I get teary. It’s important that people know, but oh. It’s so hard.

We’re grateful that people are kind, afterwards so many people sent a lot of lovely messages sending their love and support. It sounds really stupid, but making ourselves vulnerable, and opening ourselves up – even at just a quiz – it’s really really personal to us.

I had to take a mini break mid quiz after the spiel, it’s been a long time since I’ve had to say out loud, to an audience what life with NKH is like. Listing symptoms and average death ages and just – just how limited life with NKH is. We try so hard to put a positive spin on things, because how else do you live with the day to day of grim? But peeling all that back and being truly honest,  it cuts down all the defence mechanisms I’ve put in place to manage.

But, like I said, we have hope (and I hold so hard to that hope it’s ridiculous). In research, and a gene therapy cure and that one day our reality will be a thing of the past for families like ours, because life with NKH WON’T EXIST.  There will be an EFFECTIVE TREATMENT! (I’m getting shouty, because the idea that kids won’t need to suffer seizures and developmental delay and be severely disabled and die because of NKH is HUGE)

Which is why I do the spiel, even though it’s hard. Because the hope and the dream is worth it.

I’m grateful for Tony and Tess smoothing over my emotional moment with grace and kindness, acknowledging the hard and gently guiding the tone of the quiz back to fun and light while not taking away from the purpose. Honestly, they’re such pros.

And YOU GUYS! We raised £1880, which will be matched, thanks to Tony’s employer.

But we think we can raise a smidgen more (the NKH cure dream is strong, you guys). So we’re opening up the Picture Round for everyone who couldn’t make it on the night.

for a £5 donation, if you can correctly guess the movies and characters from the picture rounds, we’ll put you in the draw to win a surprise, silly, light hearted prize.

Donate here:  http://paypal.me/teamMikaere
Draw will be made on Friday 31st.
Rules: Open world wide. Add your answers in the note (please also untick the goods and services box, else the transaction fee will come from your donation).  Donations will be matched, so please dig deep!

Additional side notes: #5 – any of the movies he appears in is fine. It’s hard to know exactly which film this image is from!

Side note: if you’d like to donate and not play, thats okay too. If you’d like to donate more than £5, or less, we’re grateful for any contribution!

Please get involved, we’d love to hit the £2500 mark.

Again, thank you to everyone who came to the quiz. We had 37 teams from all over – in NZ, the US, the Netherlands, Scotland, England. It was mind blowing. To everyone who donated and sent messages and was so clearly on Team Mikaere. We love you guys. We couldn’t live this life without your support x

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

How to play:

  1. Make a donation to: http://paypal.me/teamMikaere
  2. In the notes name the movie and character!
  3. (Surprise, silly and light hearted) prize drawn 31 July

On the NKH Community

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

The thing with NKH being so rare is that we don’t get to hang out that much. There was a group hang out in the UK up north towards the end of last year, which was beautiful and so emotionally out there. It was a delight to see everyone (I even got cuddles with some of the other kids, which was such a privilege! Antonia, my heart!) but also – I felt the gaps. The kids I missed and were still grieving.

Still, we chatted and caught up and cheered the milestones and discussed meds and therapy and equipment. We talked about what people were struggling with and had some quiet moments with tears.  There was also the unexpected delight that I was in a whole room of people who knew how to look after Mikaere. Do you know how rare that is? Being able to pop to the loo, or have a conversation without being hyper vigilant, because there are at least three other people also hanging out nearby?

There was also a video group chat last month, organised by Kristen (from NKH Crusaders).  I was the only one from the UK who called in, but honestly – it was so nice to chat and talk and just – be with people who understand.

In both cases, the call + the meet up, it such an emotional balm. Because they were a safe places,  I could ask those questions I’m wrangling with.

Like – seriously. How do you deal with grief and loss? How are we meant to SURVIVE this?! There are parents who have 7, 10, 15 YEARS of living with NKH under their belts – HOW ARE THEY DOING THAT?! Because honestly, that our current life might last that long seems overwhelming and impossible. That Mikaere might die, and we won’t reach that long is downright inconceivable.

The notes I took after both are disjointed and all over the place: “Focus on the good, focus on the day to day.” and “The stress doesn’t go away. The same old same old, the story doesn’t change, but when our day to day is still a challenge, that’s hard. “ or “It’s hard, there’s always loss. Grief is devastating. “ and  “We still have the thoughts, the negative fears, and then the hope. The hope lives everyday.”

And the thing is – all those notes are high level, it-is-what-it-is type statements. They’re living the same life we are, with the hard and the grief. What I’m struggling with is that I don’t think there is anything I can do to relieve the pressure of palliative, special needs life.  I think we feel the pain, and onwards we go because there is no other choice. There is no way out but through it. We love our children, and our children have NKH and it is what it is.

Maybe that’s my problem. I’m looking for a fix, I’m looking for a way to relieve this discomfort, this phase of life. Because thats what we’re taught, right? If you are unhappy with a facet of your life, it’s up to you to make change. It’s up to you to learn more, do more, make change to better yourself. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, work your way upwards. Do the work: be in a better position. We reward that kind of ‘go-get-em’ stereotype.

But what if there isn’t a way to ‘fix’ the discomfort? What if the end goal isn’t change and growth, but to endure?

Even typing that makes me uncomfortable. It makes me squirm, because I don’t want to live in perpetually in grief. I don’t want to endure the stress of the special needs life, or the stress of my baby dying. Would it feel less awful if I stopped trying to fix the unfixable?

But, in the same vein, I don’t know how to accept the unacceptable.

It was easier to manage when the conversation moved on to research (apparently mice in sterile areas are getting infections they shouldn’t?) and then onto fundraising. I feel like I was talking to the pros of NKH fundraising. We do what we can (you know we’re branching out a bit more now we’re doing things like the hair shaving + the NKH Chicken Nugget Challenge).

To be honest, with each event I feel if we can raise £100, £500, £1000 pounds, every single bits helps. Every single pound makes me feel like doing I’m something, helping change our lot towards something positive. It’s not the $20k fundraisers some of the others are doing (how do they do that?!), but we’re doing the best we can. The thing is, fundraising makes me feel like we’re moving forward towards something. We’re making a difference. If I can raise £5 – that’s everything.

So yes, here’s to wonderful company with our tribe. Oh NKH community – we love you, and we’re so grateful for you. It’s such a comfort to know we’re not alone. That we’re not the only ones thinking the hard thoughts and feeling the fears. <3

Left to right:
Daisy’s Dairy with NKH, Team Mikaere, Joesph’s Goal, Jack’s Journey + the amazing Doms!
This isn’t everyone who came, but only the segment where some of us managed to line up.

On ANOTHER nursery update

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

The complex needs panel. Woah. Buddy.  Where do I even start? The local authority is it’s own special maze. After chasing when the panel was (which felt like a mission. Our educational psychologist, the person who is the family contact through this process left. We were allocated a new one, but weren’t told who they were. We weren’t even told the old one had left, and heard through the therapy grape vine. Ironically that’s also how we found out about our new person, who had mentioned someone else about an aspect of our case!)

Anyway, we had a date. Finally. I showed up early, and nervous.

I walked into the panel room with Mikaere. It was a meeting room, with a big square table. There were ten people sitting across the three sides, leaving one side for the two of us. Intimidating af.

They introduced themselves to one, one at a time. There was the panel chair, that days health rep and social rep. Three people from Lovely School (the head teacher, the early years teacher and the head of therapy), and then a mix of other people on the panel (a parent rep, our educational psychologist and a few more people whose names and titles and what they did flew over my head).

It was intimidating, but I’m lucky in that there was a friendly face I knew there, so that was positive.  After a lot of talk about what the current package was, how it wasn’t appropriate for Mikaere was debated (and agreed) there was more discussion about what kind of package *would* be appropriate for us.

Here is what it comes down to:

  • They’re giving us 15 hours (which is split across three hours, five days a week). Knowing that there is no way he’d be able to manage, we’re fine to use, say only 9 hours if we want to. The idea is that we should be able to build up to 15 hours.
  • If he’s not there full time, we shouldn’t rely on the therapy through school, and it should stay with the community team until he is at 15 hours a week.
  • That means that he needs extra funding to cover equipment.
  • Also, they want someone to work with him 1-1. A nurse to cover seizure care + the blended diet.

That was all fine.

What was not fine is that because none of this was sorted before the school year, there is now no space at Lovely School that is suitable for Mikaere.

So we have to wait till NEXT September.

Lovely School has exactly eight spaces in their early years class. If you double that, for the afternoon/morning sessions, that’s sixteen. Total. Sixteen special needs toddlers is all they can accommodate.

Considering there is only one other special needs school in our borough, with a similar allocation, that means there is only 32 special needs toddlers between the ages of 3-5 who get to go to nursery a year in my borough.


I spoke the the Head Teacher, who was due to open a second early years class for this academic year, and it was scrapped due to funding and lack of teachers. Ahhhhhhhhh.

This. Our system is so underfunded in the world of the vulnerable and special needs. I don’t know what to do about it. I emailed the director of education standards and inclusion in my borough, who sent back a vague but noncommittal email. I emailed our MP, and our local newspaper, both of which went silent. What else do I do? Where do I take this? Do I go lobby and advocate and make a generally nuisance of myself until someone listens? Till they fund a second class so my son can go to nursery?

The thought makes me tired (and guilty. Like I should be doing everything and more).

It bothers me, because after taking on the fight for getting a package that is SAFE for Mikaere, there is no resource. If he was neurotypical, this wouldn’t be a problem. There are nursery’s left, right and centre offering 15 hour places. But that there are only 32 places in Wandsworth for special needs toddlers… what am I meant to do?

So. I guess we wait till next September, and work with our special needs playgroups until late 2020. I’m not 100% sure how I feel about that.

Quality vs Quantity

By | #teammikaere | No Comments

There is a particularly grim aspect of palliative care that I’ve been mulling over recently. I genuinely believe that the quality of life Mikaere enjoys is awful.  While he’s often comfortable (daily seizures + vomiting aside…), his quality of life is not even close to what we ourselves enjoy.  When you don’t put the seizures + vomiting aside – his quality of life is downright awful. Today Mikaere screamed after the seizure he had. The kind of scream that really hit you in the chest, that let you know what he was experiencing was painful, and he was desperate for it to stop.

Truth: I think that Mikaere would suffer less if his life was shorter.

Side note: I don’t plan on doing anything to make his life shorter, in anyway shape or form. I am his Mama and my Mama heart can barely comprehend that his life is limited, let alone consider shortening what little precious time we have with him.

But that’s the thing. If he had less days to suffer through, there would be less suffering. I genuinely feel like the longer his life, the more suffering he will experience. While I will never ever wish for his life to end,  I also don’t wish him to suffer, or to live a life of seizures and less. Less everything, less control of his body, less awareness, less freedom and independence and joy.

On the other side, by doing my very best to give Mikaere the best possible quality of life available to him, am I prolonging his life and therefore his suffering?

By doing my very best, am I prolonging his life, dooming him to more suffering?

I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place. I’ll always want to do the very best I can for him, to comfort and care for him. But I worry by pushing him through all the extra therapy, fighting for more drugs, closer monitoring, fending off every potential downfall, that in trying to alleviate his discomfort the best I can, I’m unintentionally extending his life which is filled with so much suffering and pain.

I don’t think there is an answer here. My mama heart wants to ensure my babies life is as comfortable and happy as I can make it, but logically, asking myself what I’m prolonging, to try look at the macro as well as the micro picture…

The palliative special needs life sucks so hard.

And then I think – neurotypical parents don’t do this. They don’t need to wrangle with the idea that their baby is definitely, 100% going to die. Whether their best parenting is going to cause their child to suffer more seizures, and vomits and painful everythings. That their child is going to suffer because of them.

Again, palliative special needs life sucks so hard.

Update: Here’s where I’ve landed with this – I don’t have an answer, but my Mama heart says I should do everything I can to help him live a better, comfortable and happy life. Sometimes that’s going to mean therapy he screams through, in the hope that long term it pays off (and I know, I’m gambling that there will be a long term). It’s going to mean to more awful drugs that make him vomit and suction catheters down his nose and an untold number of needles and blood tests. But I can’t do anything other than my very best to comfort him, and give him his best shot at life. I think I’m always going to wonder and second guess whether I’ve caused more harm, but hopefully, I’ll also know that I gave my best so he would know he was deeply loved.