T.G.I.F. ???

Fridays used to be my favorite day of the week- the day that ushered in the weekend. Back in college we would have a group of us that started a little get together that we coined, "The Friday Afternoon Session." In the warm months we'd gather at the Memorial Union Terrace and in the cold months at a place called the Kollege Klub (or K.K. for short) in Madison. There we would relax, shoot darts and pool, catch up and often times have a fish fry. It was a great way to end the week.

After I became a teacher, I think I began appreciating Fridays even more. Fridays would be the day that would involve getting together with fellow co-workers and other buddies after work for a round of golf, or Texas Hold 'Em, or even coming home and enjoying a fresh breeze coming through the window and a much needed nap after a long week. Not to mention, "Retro Fridays" at Miller Park are always fun times to bust out vintage Brewers gear and cheer on the Crew. Yup, those were the Fridays.

Recently, Fridays have brought with them an almost "Darth Vaderish" feeling. When I ironically turn over my Star Wars desk calendar from Thursday to Friday I begin to hum Darth Vader's famed "Imperial March" in my head and wonder what the day will bring. As the 5th and 6th grade Dean of Students at my school, Fridays are often times the days when the kids choose to be a little naughtier than usual and the days where teachers and students are more likely to call upon me to help solve problems and resolve conflicts. The thing I enjoy the most about being the Dean in addition to teaching is helping students with their problems, so this certainly is not all bad. This same skill that may make me effective with 10-12 year-olds yields me utterly useless when it comes to my own daughters. If I can resolve conflict with "tweens," why can't I help make my preemie daughters better? Inquiring minds want to know.

Today I must have spent about 2 hours just holding Hope's tiny hand, telling her that she was a "little champ." I felt like I wanted to say to Hope in my best James Earl Jones Darth Vader voice, "Hope, get better... I'm your father." To her credit, Hope did do something that took a huge weight off of my shoulders- she started to breathe more independently. I was so proud of her (as was Jeni). It is amazing how we take this vital skill for granted each day. While the ventilator is doing most of the work, Hope is managing to breathe on her own now a bit and not rely entirely on the machine. She also seemed more spunky and "with it" compared to her cathartic state from the day before. The nurses mentioned several times how she looked and acted better, and this made me feel a little more reassured that she was not in as bad of a situation as I feared she might have been in yesterday afternoon.

The bad news today is that we learned that Hope's challenges are due to a staph infection. We don't know to what extent this infection has affected her. We hope that we can figure out more information this weekend.

While I may be able to help students when they have challenges on Fridays, I, unfortunately was unable to do too much aside from being supportive to help Hope today. Perhaps that just what she needed, though. Good news is that there are doctors, nurses and a wide range of antibiotics that can help her, and hopefully will. Dad just wishes sometimes that he could take out his light saber, beat the bad guys, and protect Hope (and Grace) from the "dark side of the Force," and get them well enough to come home.

As we officially have made it to the 6 week mark of being NICU parents, the question still looms, "when will this ever end?" "When will Fridays be fun again?"