The numbers game, 'the chair', and your love

Day two into night two on the ICU and Elliott's progress is good. His pain has continued to be well managed, even with his epidural removed, and he has rested much of the day, with a couple of doses of 'Bob the builder' to keep things level-headed. His fortitude and generosity with all of this just amazes me. For instance, his GI tube (which goes up his nose and down his throat) had to be removed and replaced today due to a blockage. I was imagining myself in Elliott's situation and how far down the corridor I might have made it before security brought me back. He is a trooper and we are so proud of him.

 For Mom and Dad, it is a numbers game. Above is the screen we try not to watch too often. Right now, we don't need to that much because Elliott is doing so well with low enough blood pressure (it may be weeks to months before the kidney might fully respond to the potential positive effects of the surgery and thus leave Elliott with normal range blood pressure) and a good amount of urine being passed. All the same, Monica and I make notes with every medical conversation (and there are many), and try to juggle the various and intersecting factors in our minds: blood pressure, urine 'output', pain medication, movement with a sore abdomen...it goes on.

Fortunately, as the one who spends the night in the room, I have the chair to comfort me. It suffices to say that if I ever meet the man or woman who designed this piece of work, I will take that individual out for a drink and hear their confession. The chair, as you might expect, does indeed become something of a reclined bed, but only something. My estimation is that you get to sleep at a 15 degree gradient, only prevented from sliding all the way to the hospital floor by a two tier foot rest. Thoughtful. Sliding off, therefore, is not the problem; the problem is being catapulted by the reclining back of the chair, that, as soon as it loses the weight of your body, springs back to its upright position. Thankfully, we English/Californians (take your pick) are an ingenious lot, and I tied the back to the leg of the chair and managed to  'sleep' securely.

Numbers and chairs aside, one of the most precious gifts of this time, beyond the great news of Elliott's progress, has been the outpouring of love and blessing that Monica and I have been showered with since we got here. The above picture was sent from Virginia. Elliott opened packages today from Texas and California too. The kind and abundantly generous people of a local Episcopal church here in Ann Arbor have been bringing us hot meals every night, people we don't even know. And, there are entries, one after the other on this blog that make our hearts glad. By them, we know that we are not alone (especially at times like the last 20 minutes when Elliott wakes feeling pain and weepy). God shows up in so many guises and gifts, and we are held.