Day after

The night was fairly uneventful on our side of the room. Kai slept for long stretches of time. Chris and I switched off being at his bedside during the night. Kai is doing even better this morning, color has returned to his face, he's demanded that some of his tubes be removed (some of which were), is eager to get up and walking around (which he will later today). He will be transfered to the general care area later this morning. Right now he's blowing bubbles to help expand his lungs so that liquid doesn't settle in them. His first order of food is on its way--orange jello. The highlight for him is being able to watch cartoons (something completely new to him in our tv-free home). He is intrigued by the different monitors, tubes and a bed that moves up and down.

The team of doctors came by on their morning round to discuss the day's plan and everything sounded good: some more tubes will be removed, Kai can go on a liquid diet, his dosage of morphine will be reduced with a switch over to an oral pain killer. These medical rounds are quite fascinating because the different specialists discuss each case from the vantage point of their discipline, i.e. the dietician and cardiologist had varying opinions about when and how to introduce the liquid diet.

After they left, Kai asked "Why did we come to the hospital?" I explained to him that we'd come so the doctor could fix his heart to make him feel better. At that very moment the surgeon walked in so that I could add, "And here is the man who fixed it."

...

We transfered out of intensive care to the general care unit, leaving behind Kai's curley-headed roommate. Poor girl, during her heart surgery, something happened to the i.v. in her leg. She sustained considerable leg damage and now has to have another operation tomorrow! This accident has supposedly never happened before. In his new room, a teenaged boy who had spent a month (!) in the hospital was just checking out. I continue to be amazed by other people's stories and their stamina.

Walking past the intensive care waiting room this morning, I saw today's parents arriving with suitcases, empty strollers and anxious faces that mirrored our own just 24 hours ago. That seems so very long ago now.