Waiting for wrinkles

Whenever I walk into the ICU from outside, I think to myself, "I really hate the smell of the ICU." Then I see my Dad and forget all about it.

Dad seemed pretty tired today. He slept a lot. We were concerned because he seemed less responsive than yesterday but was no more sedated; his doctor (who, by the way, is a total rock star named Dr. McLuckie--I swear I am not making that up) thinks it's because his kidneys and the dialysis machine already have a big job cleaning up those dead white blood cells, so the sedative might be building up in his blood rather than cycling through as it normally would. They're lessening the dose a bit, but it's a delicate balance, as we need to have him awake enough to follow basic commands and breathe a bit on his own, but not so awake that we have another barroom brawl on our hands in regards to the intubation.

Overall they're happy with his progress, despite the fact that it seems to me to be excruciatingly slow. It's funny that I, a woman with all the patience of a hungry toddler in a long line at a candy factory, am spending my days holding the hand of the most patient man on the planet and demanding of the universe that he get well on MY schedule. In my head, he puts his arms around me (he smells of Lever 2000 and Old Spice), chuckles softly, and says, "It'll happen, honey. We just have to wait."

They got a decent amount of fluid out again today--Dr. McLuckie observed that we're starting to see wrinkles in his toes (his hands and feet have been quite swollen). So that's what you can send us today, Team Eric: wrinkle thoughts! We want raisins, people! Elephants! Corrugated cardboard!

Mom sees your comments and emails, and this already strong woman is strengthened by them that much more. Every day she brags to the hospital staff off the prayers and good wishes being sent from nearly every state in the union and several countries besides. Keep up the great work, Team Eric. I'm beginning to think you're unstoppable.