It’s 3:52 AM on Day 4 of being home with Paloma—and since I’ll be up for at least another four hours (shoutout to this new sleep-deprived lifestyle), I figured I’d write a proper update. Buckle up. This one’s heartfelt, mildly chaotic, and running on adrenaline and cold coffee. 

First of all… Paloma is HOME. I still say it out loud just to make sure it’s real. The conversations we had during the early days of her hospital stay feel like they came from a different dimension—one we fought tooth and nail to get out of. Now we’re home, and she’s surrounded by love, toys, oxygen tanks, and a not-so-small army of medical equipment. Her siblings are thrilled she's back, although the sibling jostling for Paloma snuggles has already begun. 

The transition home? It’s been beautiful... and brutal. Sleep is even more elusive than in the ICU. Until we get all her nursing hours filled, we’re running a tag-team night shift: I crash before 10 PM, wake between 2–3 AM, and take over so Alan can get some rest before work. We basically high-five in the hallway like passing ships with coffee breath and eye bags. 

Our home now has everything Paloma needs to stay safe and comfortable: oxygen concentrator, portable oxygen, and a missile-sized backup oxygen tank that absolutely does not fit in any backpack but will save the day if we lose power. Add to that two IV pumps, a pulse ox machine, and enough medical supplies to rival a small clinic. 

Alan has already swapped her IV bag for her heart meds three times. Calm, cool, and terrifyingly competent. Me? I’ve politely declined the opportunity thus far because my anxiety is like “Not today, ma’am.” 😂

Oh—and in true plot-twist fashion, Alan ended up changing her PICC line dressing at 3 AM on Saturday. Yup. The night after discharge. He woke me up and greeted me in the kitchen with, “This is a sterile environment.” I had many thoughts in that moment, none of them sterile. 😅 But he pulled it off like a pro. We were trained in the ICU just in case, but I thought we’d get, I don’t know, at least one night off. The hospice nurse came by in the morning and confirmed he nailed it. Why the emergency? The dressing started lifting—and when a line goes straight to the heart, that’s not exactly something you can sleep on.

Now, something important I want to share:
In order for Paloma to be admitted to hospice care at home, she has to have a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate order) in place. We can change that at any moment—but for now, it stays. Our priority is to keep her comfortable at home, and hospice is a gift in helping us do that. It’s not just end-of-life care—it’s whole family care. We have 24/7 access to support: nurses, respiratory therapists, a social worker, a chaplain, and a doctor—basically the same care team setup she had in the hospital, but now in our living room. 

Supplies can be ordered in a snap. Nurses can come at any time. It’s peace of mind wrapped in compassion, and we’re so grateful for it. 

Temeica, one of our beloved regular nurses from this past year, is with us this week. She’s the one who did Paloma’s hair and nails in the ICU and always came with snacks for Alan (because love comes in many forms). She loves Paloma like her own, and our whole family loves her back. Well—almost everyone. Ben may beg to differ since she calls him out regularly, but it’s all part of the charm. 😂 

We are exhausted, yes. Emotionally all over the map? Also yes. But grateful doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

Thank you for your continued prayers and support. It carried us through the hardest days in the hospital, and it's carrying us through these long, beautiful, exhausting days and nights at home. We feel it. We truly do. 

Paloma is home. And that changes everything.