One week ago today little baby Murray was born. All seemed well at first. But by Tuesday he was transferred to the neo natal intensive care unit at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital on 68th St. Pure joy turned into absolute fear. Excitement to worry. Tears of happiness into tears of painful sadness.

The wonderful news is that after five days in NICU, after suffereing poking, tubes, needles and the prospect of an intestinal surgery that had become the most likely best case scenario, Murray recovered. It felt miraculous. In his last three days in NICU we cheered him on, cautiously optomistic as he turned each corner until we knew he would be OK. Yesterday late afternoon his parents took him home to Brooklyn.

I would drive home from the hospital late at night, and would beg my mother to help him and to fix him, as irrational as that begging was.  You do anything when faced with such situations. I like to think she helped.

But it was really nature, Murray's parents who would not give up, and the incredible help of the outstanding doctors and nurses in the NICU. They are so talented and knowlegable and caring and patient and attentive. Most of the babies in the NICU are preemies and so tiny. Walking into the NICU can make you very sad and depressed. Or you can see it as a place were miracles happen, where babies born not long ago would have not survived, and now they do.

We are very happy to have Murray home. We hope all of his roommates also get to go home soon. And if you see a nurse today, give her a hug.