Worse than waiting is waiting in fear. Lily was born on 13.05 at 13:05. The labour was long and difficult - she came into the world with the help of a vacuum, which only reminds me that without modern medicine, and all the work poured into it by generations of doctors and scientists, neither I, nor Karolina, nor Lily would have had the privilege of complaining about the many irrelevant pebbles in the shoe of everyday life. I would have succumbed to sepsis from a kidney defect, Karolina to one of her asthma-related lung infections, and Lily wouldn’t even have had the chance to die at birth.

The time after delivery was full of hardship. Karolina developed a dangerous bacterial infection which, mixed with stress and fear for the baby and for herself, stayed with us for over a week. During those 12 days in hospital I noted a few observations I’d like to record - for myself and for you:

Hardship is subjective

While the dread lasts, I’m not able to assess the scale of danger or risk - the body switches to good/bad mode. When the fever returns, Karolina is definitely going to die and I’ll be a weak, lonely father. When the fever passes, it’s certain that soon we’ll be a happy family in our own home.

“How are you feeling” works for a while (briefly)

That question - asked by hordes of doctors, midwives and nurses - lost its meaning after the tenth time. There’s a version of that question that comes from care, and a version that’s diagnostic ritual. From the receiving end, the difference was obvious - and so was the fact that answering it fifteen times a day did nothing for anyone. Stirring the tea doesn’t make it sweeter.

Small things give a lot

Going outside, looking at clouds, the sun, or even other people simply going about their business - it helps you remember that the hardship is only in your corner, that the whole world isn’t ending, and that this hardship will pass one way or another. A visit from a friend with whom you can just smoke a cigarette and walk around the building gives the mind more than twenty questions about how you’re feeling.

Small goals give a lot too

Making coffee, slicing a tomato for a sandwich, counting 4, 8, 12 hours without fever, or noting a fever slightly lower than the previous one, a moment of quiet sleep from your daughter - all these small facts give hope, charge the batteries of belief that the hardship will one day pass and the sun will return.

Anger is good

One of the best moments of those 12 days was the moment Karolina started getting angry - at the staff, at the hospital food, at me. It was a signal that life was beginning to come back. I’ll try to remember that the next time I get annoyed that someone is angry.

Now that the dread is away and as I’m writing this, one thought - albeit management-infused - emerges and perhaps is worth sharing: the team that’s gone quiet is more worrying than the team that’s pushing back. When people stop arguing about a decision, stop expressing frustration, stop sending the pointed emails - that’s resignation. I’ve watched leaders mistake the silence of exhausted people for the silence of convinced ones. Karolina’s anger told me she was fighting and beginning to recover. The same signal works in organizations. I’d rather have a room full of irritated people with opinions than a room full of polite, disengaged nodders. If the agenda is not on the table it’s beneath it - but that’s a story for a different time.

This episode of hardship ended well. We’re home, the little one is gaining weight, Karolina is recovering. I’ll return to these moments whenever something in life doesn’t go my way.