It’s 1am and I was just able to pull myself away from Rudy.  Sat by his bedside praying, reading Psalms and just looking him.  Nurse Debbie is a pro and has his oxygen saturation pegged right where it needs to be.  They  adjusted the ventilator a bit as he was getting too much oxygen because he was battling it and taking breaths on his own–medically not what we need, but there’s some paternal pride swelling in me to know he’s spunky and fighting.  We visit a bit every now and again as she comes in to check or adjust something.  They have him back on the paralytic, but it’s not totally working.  Twice he struggles and opens his eyes a bit.  As I let go of his foot after holding it awhile, he gives a small kick.  Debbie thinks he knows I’m there because his heart rate jumped significantly after I sat down next to him.  I spend a lot of time looking at his chest going up and down.  It’s warm, smooth and perfect.  I can feel the heart beating away inside there–to every appearence a perfect and beautiful boy.  And in just a few hours this perfect chest is going to start carrying a scar that will be there for the rest of his life.  I don’t like that but it has to happen.  I grieve the scar, but I also pray I’ll be able to see it when he’s jumping into the pool or running in the breakers at the beach.  I pray my grandkids will groan as they have to listen once more to daddy’s retelling of the “heart operation story”.  Sleep well, Rudy, it’s gonna be quite a day…