The View

There it is... the view that represents Parker's move into the third phase of his illness, treatment and recovery. We are back in the same room where we started in the Intermediate Care Unit, heading around the back turn toward the homestretch.

Yesterday they moved us to a room with a window facing a courtyard. The room was so tiny it couldn't accommodate the special chair they have for Parker to practice sitting up, nor the Green Machine the Respiratory Therapists hook up to him every 8 hours to force air into his left lung (which still isn't filling as they want it to, since coming off the ventilator), nor all the other equipment that are all a part of his life. So after a couple of hours they up and moved us again, back to room 463, where we were in the beginning of April, before the 6 surgeries and the 7 weeks of ICU.

The tower in the photo is the University of TX Tower. It is the same one where a sniper killed 14 people from the observation deck in 1966. Interesting fact I never knew but just read ~ the autopsy on the shooter revealed he had a brain tumor. Never heard that before.

Parker loves the UT Tower. During football season he would call to tell me it was lit up bright orange at night, telling the world that UT had won a game. Or maybe it's for all UT sports, I'm not sure and Parker is finally sleeping. Let sleeping tigers lie.....

As we knew might happen we had a little set back today. There has been constant work to keep his intestines working properly, and it doesn't always work out the way we want it. Either too much or too little. Today was on the too much side. The throwing up was especially upsetting to Parker because in his mind, that's what started this whole thing and represents a possible new pancreas issue.

Dr. Driskoll was in the room when it happened and believes Parker needed to cut back on what goes into his stomach for a few more days. He's only had about 8 bites of yogurt yesterday, juices and a few bites of applesauce. They cut back the tube feedings and cut out the food by mouth completely for a few days to be sure another ileus isn't starting up.

In the whole scheme of things, when you know where he came from, and how close to losing his life, this is nothing. A temporary setback. Disappointing and inconvenient, but nothing more.

Barb, the Wound Care Nursing Manager, has ordered a new bed and chair from the rehab hospital so Parker can make more progress without having to make another move anytime soon. She came in and gave him a pep talk this morning, told him how far he'd come, how amazing it was for her to see him sitting up and talking when she has worked with him from the beginning of his bed confinement. When he was on the ventilator we had to have three other people come in to turn and hold him up while she worked on his bed sores. He was like a lump of flesh and machines and tubes and beeps. Parker's jaw started to shiver and his face turned red ... just hearing it from an other person makes him feel so grateful, and somewhat stunned, to be alive.

The magnitude of what has happened in his life is beginning to make him think a lot about what lies ahead. My brother asked me an interesting question the other day. He asked, if you take away the terror part of all this, remove that from the picture and look back on this experience in one or two years, will we see this as a high point or a low point of our lives?

I had to think about it a lot, but realized the answer lies in what we do going forward, what our lives become as a result of what has happened. Only then will we know.