It’s coming up on three and it looks like Rudy is close to a place where I can leave him to head back to Santa Barbara to switch places with Trish. Rudy had a fitful morning running a fever due to the infection he’s been fighting. It took awhile for all of the necessary measures to take effect, but for the last couple of hours he’s been resting comfortably with good rates for his heart and breathing. The fever is coming down, so hopefully we’ll be able to do a sprint or two this afternoon. It’s hard to endure a setback. We’re far from square one, but this journey is fraught with letdowns over progress not attained. It would be dishonest to say it’s not discouraging.
As frustrating as my morning was, it was overshadowed by the commotion on the unit. We had a very sick little patient come in that brought a flurry of activity like I’ve never seen before. About twenty staff, many of them rushing in with equipment–each piece scarier than the last. It went on for about three hours during which I tried as hard as I could not to make glances down the hallway, but there were two parents standing there shell-shocked at their introduction to the world of the ICU. As they were too concerned for their child and loaded with adrenaline to display any of their own emotion, I did a little crying for them in my own room. On the one hand, so grateful it’s not my kid this time, but still I wish it wasn’t anyone else’s.
The dreadful carts have been moved back to their places and are being made ready for the next time someone needs to run for them. I just saw the parents walk out crying, but a quick check past the room indicates they were tears shed over what their child has to face and not over a battle lost. Grace and peace be over this place and on the little fighters here.