So for some reason, I've always forgotten this part, after the surgery, when you let your guard down, think that everything is hunky dory and get ready for some recovery!
Woohoo! Let's go out and get recovered!
Yeah. Never that easy.
He was supposed to be out of the ICU this morning.
We waited, hung out for lunch, and then headed up to wait for the transfer.
And start to worry.
Because while he sailed through the surgery, he's having a few little complications. Nothing too serious. But enough that they wanted to keep him in the ICU a little longer.
The ICU isn't really a place you want to hang out too long. It's full of people that are really really sick. And it's hard to see it all. And I think Dad doesn't feel like he really belongs... And honestly? He doesn't seem to, no matter how sick he is. He was the only one talking this morning. The only one cracking jokes and flirting with his nurse. The only one sitting up in his chair, watching tv.
Now don't get me wrong. The guy looks like he's been run over by a truck. And for all intensive purposes he has...
A truck that took out his heart, replaced a few valves and threw it back in. Along the way though, it taxes the pancreas and the lungs; it taxes his emotions and our emotions; it makes every little movement that he needs to do a fight, like swimming upstream.
So yeah, the surgery is over. And while the bionic man came through with flying colors? We are all starting to settle down to reality now. The reality that recovery sucks. And takes time.
And so we wait.
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