The Upside of Down Read Online Free

condition, primarily affecting the lungs and pancreas. It describes a terrifying and steady deterioration of the lungs due to a lethal cycle of infection and inflammation. The decline begins at birth, continuing on until premature death, normally in early adulthood.
    The dictionary describes a chronic cough, unsettled nature due to poor digestion, malnourishment. Aidan has no cough, none. His lungs, according to the medical team, are fine. He’s a contented baby. And although a bit skinny, he looks like King Kong compared to his neighbours in the Neonates. The symptoms don’t fit. Besides, there’s no history of it in the family. It just doesn’t make sense.
    Darryl and I say nothing. He gets up and goes to the bathroom to wash his face. Unable to talk to my parents, to discuss this unimaginable new possibility, I begin picking up scattered clothes and folding them away in the drawer. Please . Dirty socks in the laundry basket. Oh please . Crumpled summer dress from the chair to the closet. Oh please, no . We have been through enough. It can’t fit. I can’t do this.
    The next few weeks are ridiculously hard as I try to focus on anything but this odd-sounding condition. Over and over I replay the doctor’s prediction that it’s only a false positive. It’s an enormous temptation to simply park myself on the floor of the Neonates and rock slowly with worry. Instead I try to hum songs by my favourite artists—Indigo Girls, Dar Williams, Bruce Springsteen, anything. I find myself longing to knock the clock back to the days of my simple childhood fears: no boyfriend, no beauty marks and last pick on the sports team. Back to the days before realising that an innocent baby might be born with debilitating challenges. I pray sporadically and plug my ears to cast out the demons of doom flitting about my head. The more I try to ignore it, the bigger the temptation to worry becomes, like trying not to polish off the entire box of Tim Tams while grinding out the annual tax forms at one o’clock in the morning.
    Finally, and somewhat without warning, when Aidan is five weeks old he shows enough general improvement and weight gain that he’s discharged from the hospital. Darryl and I are given instructions on caring for him at home, the doctor makes a follow-up appointment at the hospital and tells us that a community nurse will come and see Aidan. We pack up his clothes, toys, cards from the walls around his bed and then gently place our new baby in his car seat. He is so small that he slumps into a heap and we can barely get the straps around him, it’s like trying to gift-wrap a pile of jelly.
    It’s Valentine’s Day. When we first arrive home there’s a lot of hustling about to organise life around Aidan; ridiculous that one tiny presence can send four grown adults tearing around like spooked chickens. But then, as usual, the sweet little lump falls asleep. After we put him to bed my parents offer to babysit and Darryl and I share a quiet dinner at a local restaurant, celebrating the end of our medical worries.
    The next morning mom washes the laundry, folds tiny baby outfits and plans dinner while dad paints the final coat on the second-hand nappy-changing table. After so much chaos, it’s a relief to immerse myself in the mundane nature of this new baby routine. No more ‘code call’ announcements over loudspeakers, no beeping monitors, no red-eyed parents at the next bed, no blood tests or daily weighing, no more wrist and ankle bands. Today is the beginning of our normal life as parents; the life we envisioned throughout the pregnancy.
    Later that afternoon my dad and I are sitting in the living room reading when the phone rings.
    â€˜I’ll get it, Susan,’ my mom calls from the kitchen. I return to my book but a moment later look up to find her standing over me with the phone in one hand.
    Now my mother has skills that range from making an