Logan and Evan

The Society for Acute and Genteel Erudition

No sooner do I lament the lack of civilized discourse in the blogosphere than this blog appears. Imagine that.

Fiction, Blogs, and Fiction Blogs

So I'm planning on having something of a Savant novel draft by year's end (preferably earlier), and then knocking the thing into shape by end of next spring. I'm going to jump through the usual hoops involving query letters to agents and editors, and if that goes nowhere, I'm going the POD route.

It's rather lonely work, especially compared to the blog.

I am regularly tempted to start another blog. I have a couple of ideas that I've been playing with. As of yet none has quite come together. And I'm wary of getting too distracted when I need to be spending my few moments of leisure time working on the book.

But then I start checking out blogs, and I think, man, I've got to get back into this. There's just so much to make fun of.

No day goes by without one of the big bloggers writing some self-congratulatory post about how wonderful blogs are. Certainly they are wonderful new tools, and they've proven their worth, from exposing frauds from politicians and the mainstream media, to riveting accounts from flooded New Orleans and war-torn Lebanon, to just providing access to new and interesting voices. And that's just political/news blogs, which are actually only a small minority of blogs, though you'd never know it.

What always gets me is that despite the praise that political bloggers heap upon themselves, the liberal and conservative blog camps are mostly mirror images, and the images ain't pretty. On any given day you can visit a blog on either side and find the blogger and commenters saying the exact same things about the other: the [liberals/conservatives] are evil because they think X; you can't discuss anything with a [liberal/conservative] because they're intellectually dishonest; [liberals/conservatives] claim to support X but secretly they're [Stalinists/Nazis]. Repeat 100 times.

This is fun?

I suppose it's happened somewhere, but I just can't recall ever reading a comment on any political blog that said, "Wow, I was of the opposite opinion, and you changed my mind about this subject," or at the very least "You've given me something to think about." No, usually the response is something like, "I'm glad to see you think just like I do" or "I disagree with you, and because of that, you're a jackass" (often accompanied by colorful metaphors).

That's not to say there's not discussion, but invariably it's mostly internal, questioning whether the writer's view is orthodox conservatism/liberalism. No real exchange beyond a somewhat more granular version of the appalling Crossfire or Hannity & Colmes, wherein shouting boilerplate ideology is supposed to pass for debate. There have been some notable nonpartisan projects in support of Katrina and tsunami relief, or criticizing pork-barrel spending. And I imagine there are some interesting blogs somewhere with serious, reasonable back-and-forth, but I don't know about them because they don't make enough racket. But those are exceptions, whereas the rule is preaching to the saved.

I guess most people just enjoy having their own views read back to them.

What's the point? Chum to the sharks? That's what it seems like most of the time. I suppose there's some ostensible value in saturation meming: repeated often enough, some people on the fence will eventually come around to the notion that Bush is a totalitarian troglodyte or that all Arabs need to go to a fenced-in camp for the forseeable future. But now you're talking about propaganda, not argument.

For a while reading such stuff passes the time, but I get bored fast----at least if I take it seriously. I guess I've always been a bit mystified by intense passion for anything other than a member of the opposite sex, one's children, and consumption and creation of fiction. I mean, I like Bruce Springsteen, but not enough to devote countless hours developing and running a website about him. Likewise, I have strong political feelings, but I just can't see spending all the time necessary reading and writing to run a decent political blog. Not that there's anything wrong with that; if you're absolutely convinced that WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE and/or you're making all or part of your livelihood off your writing (and strive for honesty rather than sophistry), or it just makes you happy to write and read about the crushing misery of the real world, more power to you. To each his own. I have friends who do it and do it well. I just don't understand.

Me, I'd rather make up stuff. If that makes me shallow, insufficiently outraged/alarmed by world events, then so be it. But I'll tell you that for some time after 9/11, I spent many sleepless hours constructing nightmare scenarios, and I eventually realized that I just can't obsess like that. I cannot stay sane.

What does appeal to me is playing with the rampant narcissistic rabidity of the political (and non-political) blogosphere. Such was the origin of the Irate Savant, and the book I'm developing based on the blog is intended to capture that spirit and intent as best I can.

Still, I'd like to have something going online, too. I think the Savant has run its course as a blog, but the concept of a blog that makes fun of blogs has not. I have yet to come many others trying to toy with the medium the same way as I did with the Savant (one notable exception being the sadly defunct Brown Trout's site). There's a lot of potential there, and potential to do it much better.

I've been toying with the idea of gathering together a group of likeminded souls from varying political views and backgrounds (it won't work any other way) to do a collaborative blog, featuring opinion from a panel of hyperexaggerated, hyperarrogant fictional personages. I'm always deeply wary of collaboration, though, because participants tend to drop out and/or develop resentments toward others. But I'd have a go at this anyway. With multiple voices, no single person would bear the burden of the entire site, and we might be able to attract readers from across the spectrum.

So if any of you longtime Savant readers--or anyone else--are out there and intrigued by the idea of contributing to this project, leave a comment or drop me a line, and we'll talk.

Happy Baby

I actually have an even better picture, but Shannon wouldn't let me put it up because she's using it for an announcement.

Money for Old Rope

Paul Youngson has undertaken an 18-month quest to trade items for something better each time--it's in the same vein as the oneredpaperclip guy, but Youngson says he's doing it for charity and to raise awareness about congenital heart disease.

What's Next

Logan's appointment with the St. Louis surgeon went great. He and the Columbia cardiologist both describe him as a "normal kid." He should be off the diuretic before long, and then he'll only be on one medicine, apparently entirely unrelated to his heart condition, and we're hoping he'll be off that one eventually as well. While the doctors have said that for several months he may be behind developmentally, he shows few signs of it, other than being on the small side: he can roll on his side, track with his eyes, smile. Remarkable for being in the hospital, often unconscious and almost always restrained, for about seven weeks of his three-month existence.

It's difficult to believe that we've reached this point after so many terrible days. If someone had told me on the evening of April 26 that we'd have Logan home and healthy with a very much normal functioning heart, I never would have believed it.

The doctors several times described the arterial switch as a “curative procedure.” Now, I'm a perpetual worrier, so I'm not about to take Logan's health--or anyone else's--for granted anytime soon. But it’s actually conceivable that he might not experience any further health problems related to his heart, leaving this blog—happily—without a raison d'etre.

I’m also trying to work on the Irate Savant novel, something that isn’t easy to do with a full time job and two little kids.

But I’m extremely aware of just how fortunate my family is just for Logan to have come this far. It’s an odd experience to go very quickly from the despair of “Why us?” to suddenly feeling incredibly lucky that Logan’s heart developed the way it did and other events conspired to allow him to have the surgery when he did (and there’s much more to that than I’ve indicated before, which I think best to refrain from discussing). As we could plainly see, many, many children with CHD are not candidates for the arterial switch, and many of those face difficulties throughout their lives, if they even make it.

I don’t want to forget that, or the people I’ve met on this blog who have faced similar struggles. So I’m going to keep the blog going—perhaps, if circumstances continue to allow, spending more time writing about other subjects, but always keeping a focus on congenital heart disease.

In the short term, I may post infrequently and instead concentrate on enjoying these two little guys and working in some Savant writing where I can. I’ve imposed some artificial deadlines on myself, and I’ve got to get cracking. (I may just have to start up another "fictional" blog sometime, too; I miss it that much. Up to you to find it.) But feel free to drop me a line.

A Handsome Lad

If I do say so.

Out

Logan's out of the hospital, with nothing but some temporary oxygen and two medicines. If all goes well, he'll be, in the surgeon's words, "a normal kid." Hard to believe after all this.

Extubated

Logan was taken off the ventilator today and is responding very well. He's not getting food until morning, though, so he's not very happy about that. But he keeps making steady progress, and we're hoping we can get him home soon.

Movie Review: Superman Returns

Logan is making such good and steady progress that Shannon and I sneaked out for a late showing of Superman Returns.

I may not be the biggest Superman fan (that honor may belong to the guy who runs the Super Museum I visited a few years back in Metropolis, Illinois--or maybe Steve Younis at supermanhomepage.com), but I've been a big fan of the character since kindergarten, and I've been looking forward to a new movie for a long time, especially since I heard Bryan Singer was going to direct.

I was eight years old when I went to see Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie, and though I've seen many more and better movies since, it probably remains the greatest movie-going thrill of my life. I'm not so numbskulled as to think that anything could reproduce the feeling I had as a kid, but I admit that I was hoping I'd see a Superman movie at least as good as Spider-Man and possibly as good as the excellent Batman Begins, which to this point remains the high-water mark of the superhero genre. From what I had gathered from various interviews and articles, Singer was a fan of the character and the Donner movie, and he seemed both talented and motivated enough to deliver a movie that, if not quite great, would at least be rousing summer entertainment.

But something happened on the way to the big screen.

There's a line in a John Barth book--I'd quote it if I had the book on hand, but it's something about how one shouldn't use quotes in one's novel from books better than yours. Singer and company clearly never read that line, because they shamelessly and ceaselessly rip off Superman: The Movie throughout Superman Returns, and what was apparently intended as homage instead ends up going a long way toward turning the movie into a waste of 200 million dollars, and frankly doesn't do Donner's movie any favors, either.

Sadlly, as soon as the opening credits began, I had the feeling something was wrong. They were apparently intended to be updated versions of the first movie's credits, but while there was no effect resembling somebody waving a sparkler around, they nevertheless seemed cheesier.

Now, there were some great aspects of the movie--in particular, Brandon Routh's outstanding portrayal of a computer-generated Christopher Reeve. But Kate Bosworth, so delightfully unclothed in Blue Crush, decided for some reason to raid Elizabeth Dole's wardrobe for an adequate but bizarrely asexual rendition of Lois Lane. I say bizarrely because she has a child, meaning she must have engaged in sexual relations at some point, unless the boy was immaculately conceived--a distinct possibility, because I couldn't help but feel that if the two mains took off their clothes they'd look like disrobed Ken and Barbie dolls. Plus there's a scene where Clark uses his x-ray vision to watch Lois ascend in an elevator, which at first blush evokes the pink underwear discussion in the Donner movie, but again, there's nothing sexual here; rather than underwear, one thinks more of the Assumption.

One might have thought that Kevin Spacey would make a good Lex Luthor, but then at first blush George Clooney seemed like he might make a good Batman. Spacey's Luthor is incredibly uninteresting, neither menacing nor funny, and the entire Luthor plot kills what little life there is in the movie. I never thought I would miss Otis and Miss Tessmacher, but Parker Posey's terrible Kitty Kowalski helped me accomplish that unlikely feat.

But Spacey has been good before, and it's quite evident that the fault lies not with his or anyone's acting but rather with the writing, editing, and directing, all of which are pedestrian at best. There's not a single memorable line in the entire movie, at least not one that isn't quoted exactly or paraphrased from the first movie--which feels like about a third of the entire script, by the way, and in every single instance, the presentation here pales in comparison.

For instance, there's a running gag in the first movie about Lois Lane's incorrect spelling of words like "rapist," "brassiere," and "massacre." The point is not that she can't spell; instead, the gag is intended to show that Lois is a cynical, hard-boiled reporter, in sharp contrast to the aw-shucks good nature of Superman/Clark Kent. Singer and crew can't even resist parroting this gag, but what they come up with is having Lois ask, "How many Fs in catastrophe?" If you're familiar with the first movie, you recognize the reference, and then you grimace, realizing just how badly the writers missed the point--and if you don't know the Donner movie, you must be left wondering how Lois could be such a moron.

And there's not a single original thought anywhere; what wasn't stolen from the Donner movie was ripped off from Action Comics #1 or John Byrne's Man of Steel. The writers even resort to one of the most hackneyed of TV sitcom cliches (see "New Kid in Town" at jumptheshark.com). And how old were these guys anyway, 12? I felt like I was watching a pre-teen's vision of an adult romance. In fact, the primary problem with Superman Returns is that from beginning to end it is almost entirely, utterly artless.

It's not like there weren't any pretty moments, but that's part of the problem: the pointless, uninteresting plot seems like it was just an excuse to present a handful of supposedly "iconic" moments. Luthor's evil plan is again a retread of Donner's movie, but far less interesting: he invades Superman's Fortress of Solitude and gains access to the knowledge of the "28 known galaxies," but all he really gets out of that is the desire to drop the crystals into the ocean and grow cheapo-looking land masses that (most unfortunately) bear a resemblance to the supremely anticlimactic alien ship/giant upside-down table from the conclusion of The Abyss. Frankly, I have no idea where the $200 million went; did the film crew dine on lobster morning, noon, and night?

Part of me hopes that I've just become too old for this stuff, and that there are eight-year-olds out there just as thrilled by this movie as I was in 1978. If that's the case, though, my descent into geezerhood took only a year, because I loved Batman Begins. This movie may well make back its insane production and marketing costs, but I don't think it deserves to. And that's too bad.

So Far, So Good

Logan seems to be doing well. He's cracked open his eyes a bit, and all of his signs are where they want them.

Out and Okay

The surgeon just came in: the surgery was successful.

A huge, incredible relief.

He's still got a long way to go, but he's come this far.

Surgery

A few minutes ago Logan went into surgery.

I'm reading Walker Percy's The Thanatos Syndrome faster than I've read a book. Then I have Neal Stephenson's Quicksilver and John Irving's Until I Find You at the ready. Some people apparently need to stare at a TV at a time like this; I can't stand it.

And listening to Bruce Springsteen, as if I've never heard him before. He's a comfort, and right now I can't tolerate anything else.

I'm rambling, obviously.

We deeply appreciate all of the prayers and positive thoughts.

Surgery Monday

Logan is scheduled for the arterial switch surgery early Monday afternoon. He will then have some rough days ahead of him as he recovers.

More Waiting

No surgery today due to the infection, and as we all know, not much happens at a hospital over the weekend unless it's an absolute emergency. So unless things take a turn for the worse, we're now looking at Monday at the earliest. He seems stable.

I dread the prospect of keeping myself occupied over the next several days. It's like eating when you have a bad cold; nothing tastes good.

For the most part I've adjusted to seeing Logan with all of the tubes in, but it still gets to me at times, especially when I realize how long it's been this time around.

I feel I should balance out yesterday's griping with some positive remarks about this hospital--and though I remain annoyed about the lack of a lactation room, the positives far outweigh the negatives. The PICU seems to run pretty tightly, and that's a good thing. His nurses have all seemed excellent (as they were where he was previously). And though I thought doctors at a larger city hospital would be more aloof and treat Logan like a number, that hasn't seemed to be the case. We've seen the surgeon several times and he's been both friendly and upfront, as well as quick to answer our questions as best he can.

And much of the facilities really are bedazzling, at least for Evan, and again, that's a good thing. There are numerous fish tanks around, a children's library, a very nice garden, model trains, and some kind of big Rube Goldberg device with Ping-Pong balls. So Evan likes exploring. And I imagine that it all does make a big difference to the kids who are hospitalized here.

The Suggestion Box

I hate to complain about this place. Logan seems to be receiving very attentive care. But here I go anyway.

This hospital is full of features intended to bedazzle. Kids, I suppose, are supposed to feel more comfortable if the elevators have kids' voices announcing what floor you've arrived on. That's the argument from the marketing department, anyway, who have to justify their existence.

Here's a brilliant marketing idea: put a lactation room in the PICU. I can't think that my wife is the only mother of a breastfeeding child who's ever been in the place. There's an infant right across from Evan's room.

The nurses told us that the only space available is in the room itself. They bring a divider in and let you pump in the corner. This could be a problem if there's an emergency and you're asked to leave. And now in Logan's case, we can't have a divider in the room because of his infection. And apparently Shannon can't use the NICU's room.

The previous hospital didn't have a room either, but the PICU was so cramped and overcrowded from what one can only assume was decades of insufficient infrastructure budgeting that we more or less took it in stride. Here, where one confronts bedazzling features around ever corner, it's very difficult to understand. There's apparently construction underway, and several people have speculated that a lactation room might be part of the construction, but it's just as likely that they might be building a Hall of Doctors, with talking animatronic physicians similar to Disney World's Hall of Presidents. I'm sure the kids will love it. Lacation room? Ewwwww. Find a corner somewhere.

Frankly it's enough to turn me into a militant feminist. I can't help but think that some male made the decision. I have to admit that, being male myself, the need for such a room might not have occurred to me. I know I would never have thought about it if I hadn't had kids. But there are televisions in every room, and at least one microwave in the waiting room. Food and TV we're good at.

I guess my wife could just whip out a boob and start pumping. Maybe that would create a scene and we'd get it resolved that way. But she's not the type to do that.

I do know that the hospital will hear from me about this. At length.

Not Today

Logan seems to have an infection, so no surgery today, and very possibly not tomorrow, either. He's stable, at least.

More later.

I have wireless.

Transfer

Logan is about to be transported by helicopter to St. Louis. He may very well have surgery tomorrow.

The insanity has reached a fever pitch.

Crucial Point

It seems like what we went through today happened over several weeks and not just a little over 12 hours. I may have lost a year off my life just because of today.

There seems to be some agreement among the doctors here about to proceed. Without delving too much into the personalities involved, one line of thought is that Logan needs the arterial switch, or Jantene, procedure, and he needs it now (as in the next several days). The other line of thought is that the pulmonary hypertension increases the risks associated with the Jantene too much, so he should instead receive the artrial switch, or Mustard-Senning procedure, about a month from now when (if) the pressure on his lungs goes down. For reasons I don't really understand, the pulmonary hypertension has created a window of only a few days to go the arterial switch route; after that we can only do the atrial. It's all maddening.

We spent the morning listening to and considering opinions, and then I spent much of the rest of the day trying to get second opinions in St. Louis and Kansas City and doing a bit of uneducated research on my own. My wife spoke to one mother whose child had recently had the Senning and was now doing quite well. She then spoke to another mother who child had had the Jantene, and that child is doing very well.

My research this afternoon turned up what I thought I had already read: there are higher rates of longterm problems with patients who have had the atrial switch--not just with the heart, but developmental/learning problems and other things. That's one reason why the arterial switch seems to have become the procedure of choice--the "gold standard of transposition repair," as one website said. But as one doctor explained this morning, the arterial switch is relatively new, and most of those patients have not yet reached adulthood, so no one truly knows how well those patients will do in adulthood. But I've seen some fairly grim survival rates for the atrial, as opposed to the survival rates for the arterial--something like 96-97%, and I figure that at least a couple of those 3% were maybe run over by cars.

So until I know more, I feel like we're going to have to make a choice between a higher risk procedure offering a much better possible outcome, versus a perhaps lower risk procedure that has much greater chance for longterm problems. Not a good dilemma. But if we actually have a choice, I think I'd take the short-term risk that offers better long-term results. I know I'd choose that if the surgery were being performed on me. (Strangely, I didn't think of it that way until just now, as I'm writing this. But there's no doubt in my mind.)

I believe that Logan has received good care to this point, and I'm not going to start disliking a doctor simply because he tells me something I don't want to hear. The second and third opinions we're seeking may turn out the same, in which case we're likely to stay here. But if they're different we may be elsewhere in just a few days. And I'll be five years older.

P.S. I wish I could blog at the hospital; I don't have anything to read right now, and while I've been working on the Savant novel when I am able to concentrate (not so much anymore), it would be a nice distraction to be able to post about this difficult situation and research various procedures very quickly. Plus, there are work-related things I could take care of if need be. But no: apparently the university wireless is not available there and the hospital's wireless is restricted. I've tried both proper and "extra-proper" channels to see if I could just get a temporary key, and so far I've gotten nowhere.

Back to Crisis Mode

Three weeks of normal baby stuff, and then suddenly everything changes.

On Friday Logan started passing some little specks of blood, and by that evening we were in the hospital. The thinking was that the bleeding was being caused by the aspirin he was taking to keep his blood thin and passing well through the shunt. He might well have gone home from the doctor if his weight had not appeared a good bit less than the previous Friday. Once we got to the hospital, his weight turned out to be not less at all, and it seemed like he might just need an overnight stay to make sure his bleeding stopped.

But his blood oxygen readings were low. He received some oxygen, but when it was reduced, he couldn't maintain the readings he needed. So the pediatric surgeon ordered an echocardiogram, and that revealed that his atrial septal defect (ASD) (a hole in the wall between his left and right atria) was getting very small. On an otherwise normal child that would be a great thing, because it would mean the defect was sealing without surgery. But because the plumbing in Logan's heart is all screwed up, he actually needs the defect in order to survive until the next surgery; in fact, if the defect hadn't been there, one would have been created, providing there was sufficient time to do so.

So this morning Logan had the catheterization to widen the hole, a non-surgical procedure using a balloon. The procedure went well, but in the process the cardiologist discovered several things. One, the shunt that he received on May 1 is narrow at one end, reducing the blood flow. Two, he has pulmonary hypertension, a result of (as I understand it) the heart having to work harder because of the defects. These two factors combine to make the major surgery more urgent. The third thing they learned, however, is that the two ventricles are of equal size, and there is no stenosis (constriction) of his pulmonary artery, meaning that an arterial switch is perhaps the desired course of action; such an operation, if successful, would basically give Logan a normal functioning heart. The other alternative, which would be necessary if the left ventricle had remained small and/or the pulmonary artery was still small, would require two operations and leave him with only one side of the heart doing all of the pumping—not the ideal outcome.

The cardiologist thinks that Logan should stay in the hospital and undergo the arterial switch in the next several days. Unfortunately, the surgeon has been out of town throughout all that has happened in the last several days, but he’s returning tonight, so we’re very interested to hear what he wants to do. I’m concerned that Logan may be weakened by all this stress and not really up to such a major surgery that involves a heart and lung machine. But the alternative may be that he stays in the hospital for weeks.

So in the meantime he has two IVs, tubes down his nose and throat, and a catheter. At least he seems pretty much out of it. We, on the other hand, can do little but sit, wait, and worry.

Logan Update

Logan's blood oxygen reading this morning was in the low 60s, lower than the 75-85% range he needs to have right now.

It's possible he may need another surgery for a new shunt before the next major surgery. I hope something else can be done.

Other than being a little pale, which he's always been, he looks good. Other than being a little cranky yesterday, he's been acting good, too. I think he may even be working on smiling.

He's growing, and that may be part of the problem. As he grows, that shunt gets proportionally smaller, which is why the shunt is only a stopgap measure.

On a brighter note, his echocardiogram indicated that his left ventricle and pulmonary artery had both grown, which means that he might possibly be able to have a single surgery in which the aorta and pulmonary arteries are transposed to where they're supposed to be. We won't know for a while yet if that's in the cards.

Holy Crap

I don’t know why I look at Drudge Report, but I do. And today Matt Drudge has a link to an L.A. Times story about the upcoming Superman movie Superman Returns, the beginning of what I suspect will be a determined effort on his part to undermine its box office, akin to his recent efforts on King Kong. He tried the same thing with that crap festival of a movie The Da Vinci Code, but once the movie started raking in cash his links mysteriously disappeared. I don’t know what his motivation is; maybe he just gets cranky when he can’t find any animal hoarder stories he obviously has a fetish for.

But anyway, the article itself is about the supposed gay appeal of Superman, and whether or not it will hurt the mainstream appeal of the film. Why is this an issue? Because John Duralde wrote “Superheroes—let’s face it—are totally hot” for a cover story in the “prominent national gay magazine” the Advocate.

Yep. That’s it.

If that’s all it takes to create a controversy and disturb sexually insecure straight guys, then gay people have a method whereby they can run every anti-gay official out of office. “Rick Santorum—let’s face it—is totally hot.” So long, Senator!

Of course, the plan would require stories about the quote in newspapers with apparently nothing better to print. Suggestion: start with the L.A. Times.

Hey, what about the gay appeal of football? Those uniforms are so tight, yet colorful, and you know gay guys must be excited when the quarterback lines up under center. Football is HOT, baby! So, will this "new" gay appeal harm the NFL? Will beer-bellied heteros feel uncomfortable with what had heretofore been their favorite pastime? What a story! What great reporting!

No: what a waste of trees and bandwidth. Hey, I know all about having to come up with stuff for a deadline, and since I don’t know him, I’ll give John Horn the benefit of the doubt and attribute his nonsense to a bad case of writer’s block and not some addlepated, self-important motivation to manufacture a controversy out of thin air. But that doesn’t excuse his editors, who let the damn thing see the light of day.

And here I am linking to the stupid article, which I guess undermines my point entirely, because I'm sure the Times couldn't care less how dumb they are so long as they're generating traffic.

But hey: I like Superman, I’ve always liked Superman, and I’m not going to stop now. Why would I care if some gay guy somewhere is turned on by Superman? That’s great, I guess. We all have our weird turn-ons. Some people even dig animal hoarders. You know, I like David Bowie, too, and he’s a lot fruitier than the Man of Steel. I think I’ll crank up “Lady Stardust” right now.

So unless I hear that the movie climaxes with Supes and Lex Luthor doing the ooga booga, I’m going to see it. And hell, I'll probably go see it even then.

A Likely Fruitless Exercise

Somehow I managed to get myself roped into a project with two friends wherein we are each to write a screenplay by August 1 and then enter it into competitions.

I'm already behind, and I'm pretty sure I never actually agreed to it, so that will be my excuse if I don't finish on time. But I'm going to give it a shot. I need deadlines. And I'm lazy about submitting my work. If I don't ever submit anything, I'm no worse off than if I did, and I'm actually ahead on postage and printing. But whatever.

Logan Update

I haven't disappeared. As anyone who's had a child knows, the first few months are exhausting, even when he or she is healthy--and I'm not even the one who has to wake up in the middle of the night to nurse (though my time will come, once we introduce the bottle).

Logan's doing pretty well. He's still small, but the doctors don't want him gaining weight very fast. He's wearing an apnea monitor, but it's only gone off once, and we think maybe it wasn't on right, so we hope that will go away soon. And he's on a half-dozen medications that have to be administered around the clock, but there again, we're hoping those will be reduced soon. Shannon has it tougher than I do, and not just with the nursing; because of the risk of infection, we've been instructed to keep him away from stores and crowds as much as possible, so she basically has to stay home all day long with a non-speaking, ravenous little human as her only human contact until Evan and I come home.

Evan's been a good little guy. He's handled the introduction of the baby as well as could be expected. He's very fond of Logan--maybe a little too fond at times, because he gets right up in Logan's face, and I can almost see the daycare germs coming out of his mouth onto the baby. But he's very gentle, more gentle than anyone could expect a three-year-old boy to be.

When I look at Logan, who, but for the scar and the medicines and the monitor and doctor and nurse visits and all the precautions we have to take, otherwise looks and acts like a normal baby, I'm nothing short of amazed at what the doctors have been able to accomplish. It's not so much a miracle as decades and decades of research and hard work, plus the skill and handiwork or particular medical professionals here in Columbia--not a miracle, but the result is the same.

During the three-plus weeks Logan was in the hospital, both the surgeon and cardiologist saw him every day (with a few exceptions when one was out of town), often multiple times, and they were constantly in touch by phone with the nurses. They always ask if we have any questions, and the surgeon is available by e-mail (he even offered to field questions from Shannon's sister, who's a doctor). And the nurses were very attentive and friendly. From what I've read, one might receive excellent care at a large city hospital, but not the same level of personal care.

We're already looking ahead to Logan's next surgery. The cardiologist said that we'll have to make decisions around Logan's third month, with the surgery likely occurring no later than six months of age. I very much respect these doctors, but I'm already seeking out additional opinions; I'm not going to make permanent decisions about Logan's heart (decisions that will affect him the rest of his life) without consulting with as many experts as I can find. When I have some more spare moments I will explain in more details Logan's condition and the possible surgeries and consequences.

Creation

Before I ended Spectral City, my protagonist had taken up reading Gore Vidal's novel Creation. I felt compelled to add that to the blog because I was reading it myself, and it's damn good. (The link to the Jerry Clower autobiography was entirely for humor).

Probably 20 or more years ago I'd bought it in a paperback swap store I was in while my mom was loading up on a new batch of Harlequin Romances. I never read it, but somehow it survived various purges until I was back in Birmingham and turned it up in a box. I read a few pages and was immediately hooked.

I started reading it before Logan was born, and it proved the perfect antidote to concerns and troubles about having a second child (and this was before we knew about his heart condition). I used to turn to comic books for escapism (having spent ten years in college, it's been a slow process to think of reading novels as something other than work), but the damn things have gotten too expensive to justify ten minutes of diversion. (Lileks has a good post today about comics (thanks for the heads-up, Will) that's similar to my sentiment, though I was always primarily a DC fan).

In some ways Creation reads like a fantasy novel (minus, or mostly minus, the magic), and anyone who enjoys that genre, especially those books with dozens of characters and events that basically require a photographic memory or an accompanying guide to keep track of everything, will feel right at home here. Personally, I don't read much of that stuff; LOTR and the DC and Marvel universes supplied quite enough useless information for me. But while the 5th century B.C. Persian Empire is sufficiently removed from my life as to evoke a fantasy world worthy of Tolkien, it also introduced or brought to life actual historical figures and concepts, and I personally find that far more interesting and rewarding than an entirely fabricated world.

The fictional narrator, Cyrus Spitama, is the grandson of Zoroaster, and when the novel opens he is an old blind man and Persian ambassador to Pericles' Athens. He recounts to Democrites his entire life, from witnessing his grandfather's death to his childhood in the Persian court and friendship with Xerxes, to his travels to India and Cathay, where he encounters, among others, Gautama Siddhartha and Confucius. Spitama is at times cynical and bitter (constantly criticizing the Greeks, which I found great fun), but always inquisitive, and his discussions with political and religious figures of the day are fascinating. Vidal may have fudged dates here and there to make it possible for Spitama to have encountered everyone, and many now think that Zoroaster may have lived as far back as 1000 B.C. rather than the 6th century, but this is fiction, not history.

It's not a perfect novel, but it was engrossing enough that I didn't care. I haven't enjoyed a book so much since . . . hell, I don't know when. War and Peace? (No, it's not as good as that). In any case, years. I was so distressed about finishing the book that I immediately when out and bought Julian (which I'll write about soon), and that also helped to keep me from obsessing every second about congenital heart defects. Creation is the very best kind of historical fiction: the kind that shows you history in a different way and encourages you to read more. If it sounds interesting, go pick up a copy. Me, I'm heading into Herodotus.

Tired

Very, very tired.

A Good Weekend

Logan did very well this past weekend. The rather cumbersome (and we hope temporary) apnea monitor he wears when sleeping didn't go off once (well, except when people screwed it up). He's also taking a rather staggering variety of medicines around the clock, and we hope he can start coming off some of them possibly as soon as the end of this week. But otherwise he's feeding, sleeping, pooping and peeing just like a normal baby.

I've been intending to write more, about the doctors and nurses and some other things, but I've been too exhaused in the evenings (though not as much as my wife, who has to nurse several times throughout the night), and this weekend was spent entertaining my son (more on this soon) and working with my in-laws to make our yard look like decent people own it. We planted tomatoes, and I'm afraid that just like last year, as soon as they're in the ground the rain will stop and we'll have drought conditions for months. If last year repeats itself, I may never plant tomatoes again, and I'll have to either frequent the farmers' markets or endure the horrid stuff that grocery stores pass off as tomatoes.

Home

Logan Update

Right now the plan is for Logan to come home tomorrow. We have our fingers crossed. He continues to make progress. The nasal tubes are out, he's off oxygen, and he's nursing very well. Except for the monitor on his foot and IV on his hand, he looks and acts very much like a normal baby.

On another note, I may have finally figured out the right approach for a novelization of Irate Savant. I've been trying to do this for some time, but have run into numerous obstacles and dilemmas that to this point I have been unable to solve. But the other night, an approach just sprang into my mind, and I think it will work. I probably just needed to get away from the material completely, and having a son born with serious heart defects proved to be a total distraction--though I would not recommend that as a method.

Elevation

We've been spending a lot of time in elevators the past several weeks, and I can't recall a single day when all of this hospital's elevators were working.

It's a variation of the old saw about putting a man on the moon: how can an institution be able to repair newborn hearts, but not be able to fix elevators?

What's so hard about elevators? They go up. They go down. The doors open. The doors close.

I don't mean to pick on the repair people. For all I know, they haven't had a maintenance budget for years and are forced to scavenge in the basement for whatever they can cobble together in order to jury-rig a fix. Maybe the elevators that are working are running on old bicycle, sewing machine, and calculator parts.

Of course, elevators probably wear out fairly quickly, what with the lazy able-bodied types who can't be bothered to take the stairs to go up or down a single floor.

But I still don't get it.

Mother's Day

I'd been waiting until Logan had all of his tubes removed before posting a picture, but it's been almost three weeks now, and at least he has the ventilator out. He's a little on the skinny side, but otherwise he's looking pretty good.

He continues to make progress; his signs remain good, he's warming up to the idea of nursing, and I'm guessing that by Tuesday he'll be able to crank his crying up to 11.

Obviously we would have preferred to spend Mother's Day in some other way than in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU). On the other hand, we have a happy, healthy three-year-old plus an infant who, thanks to modern medicine, stands a good chance of surviving. Members of my wife Shannon's great extended family have been dropping by all weekend long, often with food in tow (and no day that includes blackberry pie ever be that bad).

Shannon has been incredible throughout this ordeal, as has her mother, who's been here almost the entire time since Logan was born (my mother is unfortunately recovering from surgery herself, but she's been almost militant about her therapy so she can get up here as soon as possible). I knew my wife was tough, but I had no idea how much.

To some degree one is toughened by spending day after day in the PICU, where it becomes clear that there are so many babies and children with as many or more complications and far worse prospects than Logan. A few weeks ago I couldn't have imagined writing that, but it's true. We've had the pleasure of meeting the mothers and fathers of several of those children, and the way they seem to handle these difficulties is amazing. While they obviously would have preferred that their children had been born healthy, they intensively love them as they are and are willing to do anything to keep them safe, comfortable, and happy--a very tall order in some cases.

And then there are those whose children don't make it. We've run into a few of them as well. Many of them have endured weeks, months, or years tending to their children only to lose them. As I'm rather anti-social anyway, my initial impulse is to avoid becoming too familiar with the other families, because it's hard enough to deal with your own child's situation without also becoming involved in another's, but as the days pass you can't help it--despite the fact that in an instant what is so often a place of miracles can turn into a house of horrors. I don't know how the doctors and nurses--many of them parents as well--bear it day after day, but I greatly admire their skills and dedication.

Today was my wife's day, and I can't speak for her. But at least from my perspective, what had initially seemed like a terrible holiday for her to have to endure at this time turned out not so terrible after all, and instead a good deal more special.

A Good Day

The nurses extubated Logan this morning, and he is doing well so far. My wife and I each got to hold him several times for extended periods, which he seemed to like quite a bit. He also got his first taste of a pacifier, which he also liked. His crying is either silent or very hoarse right now, but he's working on it.

Fictions and Nonfictions

I'm finding nonfiction--or more accurately, truth-telling, as the two are only occasionally overlapping genres--quite hard.

I haven't quite figured out how to treat certain aspects of Logan's situation here. What do I write about my wife, and our extended families? What do I write about Logan's doctors, nurses, the hospital?

Memoir would be easier, I think; though it may be a case of thinking the grass is greener, I would think that I'd feel freer to discuss particular details with some distance. I'm more hesitant to get into everything while it's actually happening. And that's why, at least until I work all that out, there's likely to be a great deal of focus on interiority on this blog.

But it's also hard because I've never really done this kind of writing before. I've always wanted to make stuff up, or at least improve upon reality.

The last time I wrote even autobiographical fiction was in graduate school at Auburn. In my early twenties at the time, I really didn't have a damn thing to write about except the typical high school stuff--somewhere between Ferris Bueller's Day Off and Catcher in the Rye (sans the irony). But Elly Welt saw something promising, I suppose, and agreed to be my thesis director. She pushed me, sometimes gently, sometimes less so--led me to the right books and movies, offered praise when I needed it, yelled at me when I needed that too. I was (and am) a stubborn bastard, so it was hard getting through to me, but gradually I started finding the story, and the book started to take shape.

In my second year a new writing professor whom I shall not name joined the faculty. I was excited: another writer--and a well-published one, too. Elly was pleased too; she may have thought I'd annoy her less with someone else to talk to. She passed along some chapters of mine and someone arranged a meeting.

I no sooner sit down in New Writing Professor's office than I start getting slammed. I don't remember too many details, but I remember several very clearly. Too many characters. Yeah, I'd been struggling with that. But then she scrunches up her face and says, "I just kept asking myself, 'Why am I reading this?' No one wants to read about kids in high school."

Well.

I mumbled some responses and left with my tail between my legs.

So what I had--what I'd been working on for three years--was crap. And I had nothing else.

Oh, to have been but a few years wiser. No one wants to read about kids in high school? Were students using their copies of A Catcher in the Rye and A Separate Peace for toilet paper? In some instances, probably yes, but in most instances, no.

What about all the movies? Ferris Bueller's Day Off--and almost anything else by John Hughes. Grease. Back to the Future. Say Anything. Heathers. Porky's, for Christ's sake. (And the genre is not exactly dying off.) Or TV shows: Happy Days. Freaks and Geeks. My So-Called Life (was that out then, or later)?

Was Fast Times of the same order as Ulysses? No. Was I the next James Joyce? No. Hey, winning the Nobel Prize would be great and all, but I wasn't holding my breath. As Elly told me several times, "Don't try to write the Great American Novel. Just try to write the best novel you can." That was my plan.

NWP might have replied that it was fine if I wanted to wallow in such lowbrow material, but college was not the place to learn that sort of writing. Which would have been fine--if we'd been at fucking Oxford.

She might have said that I would never publish in this or that literary journal--to which my reply would have been, "Thank God!" The only people who read that stuff are the editors and writers trying to get published in them.

I went into her office expecting to learn something. The part about having too many characters--that was a good point. What else was I doing wrong? What was I doing right? I wanted criticism; after several years in Elly's workshops, I had gotten pretty good at dealing with it. I knew I had a lot to learn, I knew I could be a lot better, and I wanted to learn how. What I didn't expect to hear that my subject matter was somehow unworthy--which was absurd on its face. Hey, so high school stories aren't your bag. That's okay. I don't like stories about unicorns. But you're supposed to be teaching writing, not imposing your own tastes.

Elly was none too pleased when she learned of this conversation. I was her student, after all, and we'd been working on this material for more than a year, so she took it as something of an insult that I'd basically been told that what I had was crap. Never one to mince words herself, she nevertheless understood how someone could damage a young writer with the wrong feedback. Rather than give me hell, which she was quite good at when I needed it, she offered encouragement, and I found my way back to the writing. I wasn't some ninny who was going to let a single person's remarks ruin me.

But I got hold of NWP's book. Paid for it, even (damn, I just remembered that; I should have checked it out of the library). I wanted to see what the Great Author had actually written.

She could turn a phrase. Nice imagery. Not a bad writer at all. But I also immediately saw where she was coming from, and what type of subject matter she valued.

Derisively--and, in my opinion, deservedly--called "Kmart fiction," this subgenre of literary fiction could be described as focusing on supposedly ordinary, working-class people, while being written by and for the upper-middles who read the New Yorker (and enter MFA programs). Rarely does anything happen, and at the end we often find the protagonist staring blankly out the window of his or her trailer. As best as I can tell, one derives pleasure from reading this sort of thing in one of two ways: the feeling that one is somehow connecting with the working class without actually having to mix with them, and the satisfaction that one is reading something that must surely possess "significance," of the sort that only the sophisticated and initiated are able to glean (i.e., the author is the swindler, the reader the emperor, and I the little boy who cries, "But he has nothing on at all!").

Perhaps the most ironic thing about the term Kmart fiction is that there's basically zero chance of ever finding the stuff in a Kmart. Unlike the readers, the subjects of this particular subgenre apparently prefer stories in which something actually happens.

(Am I being nastily hypocritical, trashing a subject matter after I just got all huffy about someone trashing mine? Perhaps. But remember, I was the student, and she the teacher, a much different dynamic than adult to adult. And I will acknowledge that, as with any subject matter, there are writers of great quality who rise above any attempt to pigeonhole--Bobbie Ann Mason being just one example. But yes, I'm having fun being nasty, too.)

I made no secret of my displeasure at NWP's comments--so much so that she came and found me one day and asked me to go for a walk.

As we took our little stroll about the charming campus nestled in the Loveliest Village on the Plains, she explained that she thought I was a very good writer, that her comments were not intended to discourage me in any way, she just had problems with what I was writing, blah blah blah blah.

I can't evaluate her sincerity. But she didn't have to talk to me, so I appreciated that. But I kept my distance the rest of my time at Auburn. I finished the thesis, and shortly afterward moved on to the LSU.

I never really returned to such autobiographical fiction. I still think--in fact, I know--there's a story there. And I did revisit some of that story on Irate Savant (for those readers, it was the stuff about the Gnat and his mother). But since then I've always felt that I hadn't personally experienced much worth writing about.

Maybe NWP did me a favor. I did try to stretch my abilities beyond my own admittedly narrow experiences. Of course, I'm not published, at least not in book form. And that old story is sitting there, waiting.

But if I didn't before, I now have experiences to write about. And all things considered, I'd rather be making stuff up.

Ronald McDonald House Charities

I would guess that most anyone reading this is family with Ronald McDonald House Charities, but most of you have not ever needed to take advantage of their services.

Fortunately we have excellent medical facilities in town, so we have not had to avail ourselves of the Ronald McDonald House, which, for a small donation or even for free, offers temporary residence for families who have to travel long distances to get medical help.

But we've spent time in the Ronald McDonald Room. I think hospitals have made efforts to improve their waiting rooms, but Ronald McDonald Rooms (this one, at least) are on an entirely different level, offering comfortable chairs, pleasant colors, snacks, a refrigerator, a shower and bathroom, and toys--all maintained by corporate and individual donations and volunteers. It makes a big difference, believe me.

RMHC does a lot more too, including their Care Mobile program and a scholarship program.

There's a lot of misery in the world, and a lot of deserving charities out there. But the next time you see one of those canisters at McDonald's, or one of those pop-tab collection boxes, consider contributing. Or donate here.

Evan

This morning on the way to school Evan asked if Mommy and Mee-Maw were going to the hospital.

I said yes, and that Logan was doing better and we hoped he would be able to come home soon.

"Is he sick?" Evan asked.

"Well, his heart is sick," I said. "But the doctors are working on it to make it better."

"How is it sick?" he asked.

Evan is obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine, so I tried an analogy. "You know how your trains travel on tracks? Logan's blood is kind of like trains, and his heart is like a train track. Imagine if Thomas needed to get to the chocolate factory to pick up chocolate, but the tracks were messed up and he wasn't able to get there. What the doctors are doing is trying to fix the tracks in Logan's heart so that Thomas will be able to go to the chocolate factory. Does that make sense?"

Evan said it did. I thought it was a pretty darn good analogy, but I don't know if he could really understand it.

"Well," Evan said after a moment, "if Logan comes home and gets sick again, then he can stay in Daddy or Evan's tummy this time."

I said that was a very nice gesture.

Work

I went back to work today. Very strange. At times it was easy to fall into the normal routine; at other times I found it hard to be there.

I guess I will somehow adapt to the new normal. But I'm not fond of the new normal.

Throughout the day a lot of very kind and genuinely concerned co-workers asked me how Logan is doing.

I greatly appreciate the concern. But I sometimes want to respond by saying, "He has a terrible heart defect, we don't yet know how he's going to end up, and our lives have been turned completely upside down."

Instead I say he's making progress. It's true. And I don't want to be a jackass.

Saving Little Hearts

My brother, a TV news director in Knoxville, TN, passed along the website of an organization called Saving Little Hearts, based in Knoxville.

From their mission statement: "Saving Little Hearts is dedicated to helping children with congenital heart defects and their families by providing financial and emotional assistance and educational information. Saving Little Hearts also strives to provide enriching, educational and fun experiences for these children which will help them build friendships and confidence."

Interesting thing I learned on their homepage (I'm learning all sorts of things these days): "More children are affected by congenital heart defects than any other birth defect."

If anyone knows of any other worthy organizations/websites dedicated to children with heart defects, family support, etc., let me know and I will add them to the list I'll be building.

Thanks

Thanks to everyone for the kind words and thoughts. It means a great deal to me. One of the reasons I enjoyed writing Irate Savant so much was because of a sense of community--a bizarre community, but a community nonetheless.

A special word of thanks to my pal Will Collier, who is exceedingly generous in both words and deeds. Irate Savant wouldn't have picked up half of its regular readership without those links on Vodkapundit. In addition to being generosity, Will is also very honest and ethical, and I think he may have been a tad torn about linking to the Savant without revealing that he knew the author. But anonymity was crucial to pulling off the project, and if you look closely at Will's words, you'll see he never actually denied knowing the writer.

As he said on his post today, we've known each other for scarily close to 20 years, since we were undergraduates at Auburn. We disagree on a fair amount politically (though we agree on a fair amount too) but only rarely talk about politics--usually only when I harass him into doing so. Our shared passion for the important things, like H.P. Lovecraft, Battlestar Galactica, and Auburn football easily overrides any differences regarding such petty concerns as world affairs. In any case, the blogosphere and world at large could use more Will Colliers.

And while I don't personally know Stephen Green, he's all right in my book too. Thanks to both of you for the links.

P.S. I'm also glad that in his post today Will mentioned our writing professor at Auburn, Elly Welt. Elly is an outstanding author and teacher who taught me much of what I know about writing--and would have taught me much more had I not been so damned hardheaded. Her excellent novel Berlin Wild is unjustly out of print, but I urge you to find a used copy. I hate to reduce the meaning of the book by describing it in this way, but it does offer a view of Nazi Germany and the Holocaust you've likely never seen before. And there's much more, too. Read it and pass it on.

Logan Update

Two days ago Logan went off the ventilator and seemed to do well, but the next morning I received a call while my wife and I were receiving our CPR training (yes, scary) informing me that he didn't appear to be quite up to breathing on his own yet and was having to go back on.

Yesterday evening he looked pretty good, though, and seemed more alert than he has so far.

The doctors seem happy with his echocardiograms, too, though it's too early to tell how his heart will develop, which will then determine what kind of surgeries he will require in the future.

If all goes well, the doctors will try to take him off the ventilator again in the next few days. If he continues to respond well, we'll be on the path to taking him home.

Initially we were asking them all the time when they thought he might be ready. We've stopped that. It'll happen when it happens, and we'll be happy whenever that is.

Quote

From my three-year-old son, Evan:

"When baby Logan comes home, Mommy can hold baby Logan, and Dad can hold baby Evan, and that would be wonderful. Then we could switch, and that would be cute."

I know, I know: kids say the darndest things. But it's true.

A Prayer for Infinite Earths

When I was younger and my head was filled with concepts like Earth-1, Earth-2, and various other mirror universes, I concocted my own private mythology—not one I actually believed, but rather one that provided some entertainment and a means of coping with the seemingly all-important travails of adolescence.

It was constructed around the notion that I could travel to parallel universes—but unlike the Flash, who needed his Cosmic Treadmill to perform this trick, I could do it merely through proper concentration. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), my rather extraordinary ability was nevertheless circumscribed: I couldn’t travel to any parallel Earth significantly different from my own, where the Beatles never broke up, or Hitler stuck to painting, or Mr. Spock had a beard. Rather, I could only “shift” onto an Earth with just the slightest differences—where, say, a girl who wouldn’t give me the time of day on “my” Earth instead found me incredibly charming.

It was a selfish, megalomaniacal notion: if I could shift onto another Earth, then I was likely trading places with my doppelganger, and leaving behind my friends and family for almost-but-not-quite-identical versions. Not very nice, though to an adolescent and teenager, a small consideration (and sometimes even a desirable one).

Like many myths, mine gradually grew more sophisticated. If I anticipated events enough in advance, I could steer myself into the desired universe. But the anticipation was essential—and here again, being a pessimist and worrier, I had constructed an ideal mythology for myself. Bad things only tended to happen if I had lost myself in the moment, failing to spend time worrying about them and then shifting out of harm’s way. Viewed in that light, the idea was perhaps less selfish (though just as megalomaniacal); perhaps I wasn’t so much shifting myself out of bad situations as much as I was steering myself and my Earth toward my preferred outcomes. (It has potential, I think, for a story; parallel universes have been explored again and again, but not so much on that kind of micro level. If I’m mistaken, let me know.)

I later learned it was a near-universal form of magical thinking, albeit filtered through comic book superhero universes. And, in a way, a form of prayer.

If I’d known more about the Many-Worlds Interpretation, the idea might have become still more sophisticated, but after I time I forgot about my little musings. When tragedy strikes, however, one turns to mythologies both shared and personal. It all came back shortly after 9/11. I had started a new job just days before, making a great deal more money than I had been, and thus I was so pleased with myself and my new situation that I had temporarily neglected my worrying. Then, once it happened, I was stuck in this reality. The best I could do was shift myself into a universe where nothing worse happened.

Then my son Logan was born. Within minutes of his birth I realized something was very wrong, and by the end of the day we learned that he had several heart complications, the primary one being Transposition of the Great Vessels, meaning that his aorta and pulmonary valve were reversed.

Certainly there are those who have had it much worse than we have—after all, Logan is alive, seems to be slowly progressing, and we have hope that he will be able to live a full and productive life. But such an experience with a newborn is still a special horror.

It was not a good first night. Nurses would hourly check my wife’s vital signs, so if I had actually fallen asleep I would wake up and everything would hit me.

I felt totally helpless. And guilty. How had I contributed to this happening? Was it some kind of karma, some sort of punishment for doing something wrong, or not doing something right, or just that I was due for something bad to happen?

Lying there, half delirious, I desperately wished I would go to sleep, wake up, and it would all have been some terrible dream.

And then at some point I remembered my old mythology. Maybe I just hadn’t worried enough. I’d worried plenty, of course (I can’t help it)—but really only about having a new addition to the family, how we would manage it with both of us working, how my older son would deal with no longer being the center of attention. I’d taken Logan’s health too much for granted—and that’s what got me.

So now I spend a lot of time revisiting those old silly notions. If the Many-Worlds Interpretation is true, then there exists (or will exist—I don’t pretend to fully grasp it) a universe in which Logan’s heart develops in just the right way, and his aorta and pulmonary valve will be able to be transposed, and he will have a mostly normal heart and live a more or less normal life.

Since I can’t do much else regarding his little body right now, I’m busy trying to steer reality in that direction.

Ad Hoc Existence

On April 26, 2006, my son Logan was born with several serious heart defects. This blog is a chronicle of our family's experiences as we struggle with this situation. My primary purpose is personal: I'm writing to cope. But I also hope to use Ad Hoc Existence to reach out to professionals and other families experienced with these types of problems, and eventually even serve as an information resource.