Monday: Collective Sigh/Rough Parting

Salty Nurse no more!

Well, Stacy is still our evening nurse, but I'm pretty sure I misread her. Her bedside manner and delivery of news weren't syrupy sweet like the rest of our nurses so far, and that combined with the first dose of scary news made me nervous around her. Plus, I don't think she blinks. Ever. I've yet to see any in 2 12-hour shifts.

But after my standoff at the O.K. Kuh-Neuro yesterday morning, I got the answers I needed, which is to my non-blinking nurse's credit. She scared me enough to really get mad and fight. We had her again last night, and she was Super-Nurse. She got his spiking fever down, asked about my conversation with the neurologist, and -wait for it- JOKED around with me a little. Plus, she offered to trim Dad's beard. He really needed it. We don't need any more reasons to crack Rip Van Winkle jokes.

All silliness aside, she was/is wonderful, as have been all the other nurses.

Today was a great day for Dad. His pressures, both blood and brain, have been stable and slightly lower than the day before. He's breathing almost twice as much as the ventilator tells him to (A New Record!), and his oxygen delivery is stable. I believe the respiratory staff will try a CPap on him tonight or tomorrow for a few moments, just to see how he does. He's moving a bit more, and even if it's due to a silent coughing fit, I'll take it. It means A) he's getting the gunk out of his lungs and B) he's got the strength and energy to do it. Ah yes, and C) his whole body moves, most specifically his right arm which he swings like crazy. Why is this wonderful? It's controlled by the left brain, where his trauma is.

He wiggled his mouth the second I walked in to talk to him, which is awesome. He's getting quicker at his responses. I picked up his favorite cologne for both him and mom from home, and she'll be waving them under his nose over the coming days. Hey, it won't hurt him. And anything that triggers a sense memory is worth a shot.

Sadly, I won't be around to see if it works. I'm writing from Gate 11 at the L.R. airport. I'm back to Chicago/Minneapolis/Chicago for 8 days. It's already killing me to be away from them. I've refused to let him hear me cry so far, but today I fell off the wagon. God Bless my cousin Chuck for holding me while I got it out of my system. The nurses all understand that I'll be calling regularly for updates on his levels, and my physical distance from Room H405 won't mean a thing when it comes to me quizzing doctors. In fact, it may get worse. Hold on to your hats, residents.

For tonight, we're just enjoying how blessed we've been so far. He's improving tiny bits every single day. I'm so proud of him. And of Mom for being, well, herself. Upbeat, positive, loving. I feel in my soul that it's working.