The night before, Cyril Renaud dazzled us at Fleur de Sol, prepared a delicious last dinner in the unpretentious, white linen tranquility of this randomly lit enough to allow me to overindulge in a delicious Gaufrette au Chocolat with Black Mint Powder and Chocloate Ice Cream.

The Month That Was:
On the night of April 18, after a lovely dinner at Fleur de Sel, I bade farewell to Barry and Marc as we crossed Fifth Avenue in the 20s.

Below is a photo of the gang leaving the restaurant on April 18. It was about ten o'clock when I caught up with Carl Mike, Alex, Dominic and friends who were just finishing up dinner in the West Village. I had hardly enough time to sit down for dessert and join their already-in-progress conversation when my phone rang. It is not an exaggeration to say that call changed my life forever.

By contrast to the conflagration of events that was about to unravel, here is the Wild Ramps and Asparagus Soup I had as an appetizer, The emergency medical situation described to me on the phone, resulted in the early delivery of my baby daughters nine hours later, at 7 o'clock the next morning. My sister had been through a difficult night and would face several very difficult days ahead. (Recovering from an emergency c-section involved complications that most likely could have been avoided with a scheduled delivery.) I found myself in fitful anxiety flying up to Toronto that morning with the most pessimistic thoughts on my mind. At twenty-eight weeks gestation, could the girls survive? How is my sister handling all of this physically and emotionally? I thought about the rest of my family and my work. Everything was changing so quickly.
I soon became familiar with the NICU roller coaster of medical procedures, diagnoses and health care professionals working 24 hours a day. (Photo above is of Lily sleeping this afternoon.) I accepted the most optimistic scenario that seemed to be playing out before my eyes: miraculously both girls were doing well, and would survive. My sister rebounded after a painful and difficult week of recuperation. But this roller coaster had surprises in store for me. At first the girls seemed to do better each day. Finally, on "Day of Life" 11, I decided return briefly to New York— even if for one day to get some work done—and to better prepare for an extended absence.
Unfortunately, that decision turned out to be an unfortunate one. After one day in New York, I received the call... hours later, baby Pearl was dead, and, after flying to the Moon and around the Solar System (or so it seemed) I was being transported by police cruiser through the darkened streets of downtown Toronto to the hospital. As readers of this blog are already well aware, that day Pearl died.
Another three weeks followed. Glued to Lily's incubator I have watched her grow, but I have also experienced every diagnosis, good and bad. The roller coaster continued, with my psyche undeniably scarred by the trauma. Beginning with DOL 13 I sat next to Lily day after day feeling somehow that if I could not protect her from the same fate I could at least be next to her to understand what was happening, and avoid ever again being on the receiving end of such a phone call. Tonight I have finally arrived at some peace with this all, built up some courage, and tapped into what ever reserves of strength I have to return to New York again. The purpose of the trip is to try to spend a week or two working and preparing for a longer absence. I could not have made it through this month without my family's unending love and support, without the tremendous generosity of my friends Michael & Keith, Ruth and her sister, Lisa. The NICU staff has been tireless in their efforts to answer my endless questions and concerns. Though hundreds of miles away, my friends in New York and elsewhere sent their expressions of sympathy and friendship, and those collective pats on the back and hugs were felt. I know that coming home to New York even for a few days or weeks will be easier because I am so blessed to have these wonderful people in my life.I cry a lot on the inside these days, there is nothing more than one can do but cry when a baby goes from healthy and lively to dead and lifeless in hours. There is no way to understand why Lily survived and Pearl did not; necrotizing enterocolitis strikes almost without offering clues or explanation. I consoled myself shortly after they were born with the facts: at 28 weeks preemies make it. In fact, these girls had a statistically (useless) 98% chance of survival. Breathing on room air without ventilator on the second day of life, they were superstars. Pearl is now buried beside her grandmother for whom she was named, but that was small comfort for my distraught and inconsolable father, sister, brother, brother-in-law, and nephews. Nothing can prepare you for the sudden death of a baby. Returning to real life, perhaps counter intuitively, makes it even more painful in certain respects. This past weekend I came to the realization that my 9-12 hour vigils next to Lily are not an insurance against any surprises. The time has come to cut myself off. In the long run I feel that it is neither healthy nor sustainable; so I am coming home for a while. But I will miss her each day and I will worry about her. Among her many wonderful women and men who take care of Lily, two stand out: Angela and Zaida. Both are special, endearing and compassionate in ways that words don't adequately explain. I feel as though they have become part of my family... Lily's family. They know I will be calling often.