We made it off of the PICU (Intensive Care Unit) yesterday afternoon. Thank heavens. The girlie, she was still foggy and lethargic from all the hootie they had pumped into her the previous few days to keep her under. She is breathing on her own.
Today is a whole different story. By the end of her day she was trying to push her own IV poll down the hallway on her walk. She entertained herself booting at squishy soccer balls out on the terrace for a while, and then tried repeatedly to climb into the fountain downstairs. There are a ton of coins in the fountain, and I cannot get over the creepy feeling that she wants to get a few handfuls of change for a snack later on.
The new room is pretty great. It's large and comfy and it has an adjoining bathroom that comes complete with a shower. There is a TV that has a PS2, VCR and DVD a radio and a fold out bed for me to sleep on. There is a huge play room with books and toys and art supplies galore... all this is good because we will be here for anywhere from two to six weeks.
There might be funny or witty folks who could find some humor in this, or find the funny parts, I am not one of them. I am keeping my mind focused on the moments of joy, and the vision I have of Pearl running and carefree... but yesterday when the doctor gently scolded me for wanting to rush the healing process, because I was trying to find out what was the soonest we could move to the next phase, I started crying for the first time since the night before surgery. Huh... now that I think of it, it was when I was talking to her that I had cried that time too. She is apparently an awesome surgeon and doctor, but a mistress of the worst case scenario, and not a puller of punches. I felt very sorry for myself.
I wallowed in self pity all the way down to collect the last of my stuff from the PICU. As I was packing my stuff to go, one of the other mothers in the PICU waiting room noticed and asked if my baby had made it off the floor. When I told her that she was already upstairs that mom cheered with her hands in fists, pumping victory above her head. I gave her a short sketch of where we stood and then asked after her boy. Apparently he was born with only half a heart... but if this surgery took and then the next two or three surgeries, then he'd have a normal boy life ahead of him. There was another mom sitting on a couch nearby who had been listening intently, she offered her congratulations. I asked about who she was there for, and she told us about her baby girl who had a very rare form of brain tumor. Somehow it was in what she didn't say that stopped me cold, and after a short pause she finished that it was spreading down her spine and nobody knew what to do. Her baby is nine months old. Her name is Destiny. We all got very quiet, and we all three cried.
To my mom.... Happy Mother's Day. To all y'all women out there who nurture, love and cherish... Happy Mother's Day. But especially to all mom's who are losing or have lost their babies.
Happy Mother's Day.