One More Day

Today has been quiet. Bean is still sedated and on the vent. Her chest x-ray this morning showed some fluid build-up in her right lung, so the doctors felt she wasn't ready to be extubated. Because of the way Bean's heart and lungs are functioning right now, her right lung is doing 90% of the work. This means that when there is fluid on that side, her oxygen saturation really takes a hit.

I had a quiet day, as well. My amazing college roommate has given up four nights at home with her sweet boys to support me through this crazy time. (I should probably throw in a little shout out for her amazing husband who is at home with those three sweet boys. You rock, Mark!) We've been eating chocolate and trying to laugh instead of crying and watching girl movies with Bean. (It's totally acceptable to let your two-year-old watch romantic comedies while they're sedated, right?)

One of my heart mama friends told me to be thankful for each day that passes because it gets us one day further from surgery. Whether it's a challenging day or one where Bean makes lots of obvious progress, it's twenty-four more hours that her body is healing and adjusting and getting stronger. I'm working hard to remember that on days like today when it feels like we are just stuck in a holding pattern.

Bean was more alert for a while this evening. Her respiratory therapist, a super sweet girl named Ellen, was here on Saturday when Bean had to be intubated. Ellen walked in tonight to check on things. Bean took one look at her and burst into tears. I don't know whether Bean has memories from Saturday or she just didn't want one more person messing with her, but her response was heartbreaking.

Seeing your child cry on a ventilator is pure torture. They can't actually make any sounds, so their face just scrunches up and the tears start streaming. Moments like this are by far the hardest part of being in the hospital with Bean. I know she is just done with bandage changes and vitals checks and breathing treatments and the awful vent. I am done for her. 

But, since I can't scoop her up and run for the elevators, I'll keep giving her kisses and whispering that I'm here and praying she gets stronger soon. I'll hold her little hand and put bows in her hair and remind her that she is loved. And, when it's time for me to curl up on my hospital couch/bed, I'll be thankful that we've made it through one more day.