Thursday, September 11

Although we did not have the opportunity to participate in any of the observations of the anniversary of 9/11/01, we are moved by the experience of being here in New York on such a solemn day. What a wonder this city is! Every day we find occasion to ponder how well it works and how civilized it is.

As we learned in the late '60s, living here is challenging, as the past month of being here has been. But even in as short a time as this last four weeks, it has come to feel like a couple of small communities for us.

Of course the most important of these is Bellevue, itself as big and diverse as some cities we've lived in. On a trip to the nearby Border's last weekend, we saw Jilly's art therapist. In the hospital cafe, in that long hallway we traipse half-a-dozen times a day, or in the lobby where we manage the visitor traffic every afternoon, we are likely to encounter nurses, doctors, and therapists who want to know how Jillian is doing. Last night we ran into Carmen, sister of an ICU patient in those first few weeks, who went to bat for me when hospital security rousted the Jilly posse from the 10th floor waiting room. At the bus stop this morning, I met Jilly's speech therapist; by the time we got to the hospital she knew what I hoped to learn after the doctors' weekly patient evaluations this morning, so that by midmorning we had an update. (All progress, all good.)

Jilly had another good day. She actually completed all her morning therapy sessions. I confess I let her snooze through the afternoon group occupational therapy, though. At that moment, nothing seemed as important as some extra rest. A full recovery seems more likely every day; the task at hand is to ensure that her sense of urgency does not undermine that wonderful eventuality, which seemed so remote a few weeks ago.

Ingrid