recovering

Every day has the same 24 hours. But some days, are much, much longer than others...

She’s in ICU this evening, recovering.

When we walked into the room and Indiana heard our voice, her tears that began falling caused a chain reaction from her Mama and me.

Hers’ because she’s frightened and in pain, and not fully understanding what’s happening, and why she has all the tubes and wires attached to her. Ours’ because it hurts us to see her in so much pain that we can’t make go away.

But it’s done.

And she’s on the backside of a long, very hard day… actually, two days.

Yesterday, we checked in here to the hospital just before sunrise and went through hours of prepping and getting ready. But just before they came in to take Indy to operating room, the surgeon had an emergency situation from the surgery the night before that he had to attend to, and so we found ourselves getting Indy dressed again and heading back out with orders to be back this morning at 6 am.

I’m not sure Indy needed the extra day, but I did. Honestly though, I didn’t know how much I needed it - how desperately my heart needed another 24 hours to process all that her little heart, and ours, was about to go through.

About the same time they cut us loose, a number of friends showed up from Waco and we were blessed to all get to spend the day exploring, sharing meals, and being together… with lots of deep conversations and prayer through it all.

And so we did it all again this morning, but this time I think we were more ready. At least I was.

Indy had turned a corner a few days ago and in her own way, was at peace with it. Partly because she knew she’d be asleep and not have to feel the pain of the I.V. and the surgery, and partly because she had no real idea of the pain and the fear that she was going to feel - that she’s feeling right now.

Right up until they came to wheel her off to surgery, she was playing her new doll Rosemary, winning at Uno, and watching her little two-year-old friend Ardi (who has almond eyes) play tambourine.

And one small sedative and a few moments later, we were kissing and hugging our sleeping girl goodbye, telling her we’d see her after the surgery.

We’ve spent most of our day in waiting rooms. A big one with Rebecca’s parents and many other dear friends, and a smaller private one just down the hall for just us, where a wonderful nurse came in hourly and gave us updates.

At one point, she said the surgeon had found something new that concerned him - which greatly concerned us - but it turned out to be fine. And a few hours later the surgery was over and Dr. Frasier was sitting across a table from us telling us how well it went and how wonderful Indiana did.

The hole in her heart is closed, the blockages are cleared, and she should make a full recovery and live a full, long, life.

Thank you Jesus.

Finally, this evening as they wheeled her down the hallway past our waiting room from the OR, they let us see her.

Within the hour, they brought us into a room in the ICU to be with her when she woke.

And here we are.

Indy’s teetering between awake and asleep… peaceful, and upset…. I’d like to say between tears and smiles, but mostly when she wakes there are only tears. And much confusion.

My emotions teeter right alongside hers. Blessed to be here, but disappointed to be here. Thankful that it’s done, but heartbroken that it has had to be at all.

Mostly grateful that we’re not here alone. That we’re surrounded by so much love.

It’s now 9 pm. The folks who’ve been here with all day have all gone home and the waiting rooms are empty. It’s just Rebecca and I, and our little one here in this room filled with soft lights, noises and beeps. We take turns giving Indiana swabs of water - the only fluids she can have for now.

She whispers, ‘thank you’. And we see the hint of a smile.

Thank you Jesus.

Nurses float in and out, checking and changing things, and we’re gearing up for Indy’s long night ahead. Praying that she’ll be able to mostly sleep. The doctor says in the morning they’ll try to get her sitting up and soon after, standing.

It’s hard to believe but one day soon, Indy will be running and playing with her friends again. And today will only be a memory. And a sad, happy blog post I wrote next to a hospital bed in Austin, Texas.

Thank you to everyone reading this, whoever and wherever you are.

For your concern.

For your prayers.

And especially, for your love for our little girl.

Indiana.

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