Magic of The Moment

I said I felt hopeful, now I am adding "cautiously optimistic" to that statement.

Dr. Morrison, the Critical Care Specialist who is consistently the most grim and serious, and scares me more than the others, actually smiled this morning! He called me to come down to talk to him. I was standing right behind him, waiting to go in to see Parker, and I am grateful I didn't hear the page because it would have caused me a heart attack. After his assessment I said, You seem more optimistic about his prognosis today, am I reading you correctly?

Dr. Morrison gave his version of a smile, looked into the room and said, Well instead of thinking minute by minute, we are thinking more long term now.... for instance, how long before we can get him off the ventilator, how long he'll have to have the antibiotics, things of that nature, which are all positive signs.

Last time I was dancing the Parker-Is-Going-To-Get-Better Dance I was crushed within hours. Hence the "cautiously optimistic" statement above.

I want to dance, I want to laugh, I want to cry tears of joy. I want to hold his hand and talk to him, and hear him answer me. I want to know he knows I am here, I want to be sure he knows his Dad has been here and read him the letter John wrote before he had to leave. I want him to know that his brother is sleeping in the League House room after a night on duty in the waiting room. I want to tell him the sun is shining outside again, and I saw some bluebonnets, and Dustin wants to take him to play golf, and his friends want him back at work, and his job is safe and I am here and will stay until he is well. I want all those things, and no doubt HE wants all those things, too. But he isn't ready just yet. So I am telling you, and when I can tell him, we will dance together. We will dance the victory dance.

Parker's temp is still slightly high, 99.7, which doesn't even come close to the 104 of last Tuesday. He had been breathing on his own again for a few hours this morning, but they reduced his sedation to about half what it was in order to be sure he was still responding to their commands (he was) and had to put him back on almost full support. Whenever they reduce his sedation, he starts fighting the breathing tube. When I first turned that corner and was waiting to go in, I heard his nurse today, Greg, talking to him.

Work with me buddy, open your mouth so I can put the block back in.... It's going to help you keep breathing. Come on Parker, help me out here.

Greg stayed very calm and apparently was able to get Parker to do as he asked. Nurse Katie told me when he spit it out last night and she was trying to get it back in, he shook his head hard from left to right and scrunched his eyebrows together, like a little kid. But, as we already know, she discovered the calmer she was, the better Parker was, too.

He still has the massive infection, but his white cell count is coming down close to normal, meaning the antibiotics are doing their job and his body doesn't have to fight as hard to get well in that one area of his health. He is holding his own as far as his heart is concerned, blood pressure has remained stable for several days now, his heart rate, although still high for a "normal" human, for someone as sick as he is, it is relatively low, in the 118 to 122 range.

He still gets that red rash spontaneously, which no one can figure out, but Greg said they were aware of it and were watching it. He had to change the dressing on the vac-pac sponge-abdominal-suction thing which got Parker quite agitated because of the pain. They want to get him off the pain meds he is on now so he can be fully weaned off the ventilator by the end of the week (cross all finger, cross all toes, pray, dance in the rain, whatever it takes!)

The next big hurdle is his 4th surgery tomorrow. They have to go BACK in and sew the mesh thing into the muscle wall (I think that's how it is happening ... information overload) and the doctor has to stitch from far outside the area where his abdomen is cut open to try and pull it together. There was so much fluid in his abdomen before they drained it that they are having difficulty pulling it all together again now.

I don't want to think about tomorrow's surgery until tomorrow. I want to relish this moment of hope and milk it for all it's work.

My sister said, Don't miss the magic of the moment by focusing on what's to come, so that's what I will do. It is a magic moment.