Today is Monday- after dinner

My mother called me 5 times today.
When I finally picked up, I learned what was so urgent.
Darren Ross' baby girl, she is about 1.5 years, is in the ICU.
She has a brain tumor.
There was some more blabbering from my mother.
When I finally got her refocused on the details I discovered that baby Emily was having seizures and they were becoming a bit too frequent, so Darren and his wife (I can't remember her name) took baby Emily to the ER.
The tests revealed that the there was a small, inoperable tumor right there in baby Emily's head.
Benign, but inoperable.
Apparently, this is pretty rare in babies, so not much can be done, except that baby Emily will grow up to be Emily as long as she takes some prescribed pills.
(When I return to work in the morning, I will look into these meds and relay to Darren all the information that the doctors never talk about.)

My mother was clearly upset, but I couldn't tell where the booze began and ended in her words. I did however, get a read on the emotions of the situation- my mother could always handle empathy. Some sort of defense mechanism for herself- feel others so you don't feel yourself.

Anyways, my mother said that baby Emily was born with small birthmarks on her fingertips and that this was a symptom of this tumor.
Odd. Why the fingertips?
If the body is that interconnected then why the meds and not something more logical like acupuncture or herbs or massage? Why rely on some chemical to eliminate symptoms? Treat the ailment instead. I probably shouldn't write this aloud, but it is what I believe. (Meds have their purpose and place- more on this later.)

Back to Darren; he spent the night in the ER with baby Emily; no sleep was had as there was another baby there (alone) crying all night; but, baby Emily arose the next morning and began blowing raspberries to the doctor- at least that is what my mother said.

Darren is a family friend. I have spent many Utahian days fishing and nights camping with Darren and his family. He is good folk. Sincere, genuine, well-mannered, and quiet(peaceful?) I have probably spoken to him once in the past 20 years and that is when he stopped over my place in the NYC. He spent the night on the couch and left $200. I tried to give it back to him, but he would not take it. I can't remember how I spent it, but I am pretty sure I wasted it.
Hindsight, I should have put it into a savings account for baby Emily's meds. $200 at 4% over 15 years would get her a good 3 months of meds.
Darren is as solid as they come. I know that he is an amazing father, I can tell by the way my mother speaks of him. I also know how she feels about my fathering skills, so it is actually a pretty easy visualization for me.
How is it that such a great guy, great father, great friend, and probably a great husband can stay all night in the ER with a crying baby and a sick daughter? Where do guys like this get the wherewithal to persevere? Shit, I can't get out of bed to go to work because I drank and smoked a bit too much, but baby Emily has a tiny tumor in her head and her dad is right there next to her; soothing her; making her feel like nothing is wrong. You see baby Emily, because of your dad's love for you, all this noise, this uncomfortable bed, this tube in your nose and the needle in your tiny leg; all this stale, putrid, arid air; that smell of cleanser; the strange echoes of hollow cries; the beeps and bings; the strange light that has no shadows and the shallow darkness that has no life; all these strange people in white and blue clothes that come into touch and prod; all of this will be a distant, distant story told to your children at grampa's house many many years from now. And in that story, you will recount, laughingly, your night in the ER. A night in which through all the strange noises, sights and sounds you can only remember the joy of your father softly calming your tiny head with his lips, his soft soft warm whispers of 'I love you', and the familiar friction of the dermal ridges of his thumbs and fingers on your tiny hands.