I slept on the windowseat couch last night and when I woke up this morning, I listened to the nurses give Brenna medicine and I looked out the window. The moon was a small crescent and looked exactly like a Cheshire Cat smile. I felt like it was a little "God Wink" echoing the lyrics of Sara Groves, "It's Gonna Be Alright".
We have noticed a huge leap in Brenna's speech in the past 24 hours. There aren't the long pauses and hesitations that we have become accustomed to. Somehow, this surgery, or the medication she has received afterwards, has affected her speech. My sister made the comment that she couldn't believe she was really talking to Brenna. Maybe part of this is due to us seeing her in such terrible shape in PICU and now seeing her healthy and happy, ready to go home, but I think there is more to it than that.
I feel nervous to take her home. I don't want to move her incorrectly or cause her extra discomfort and want to do everything exactly right. She is so eager to move, get dressed and get out of here. However, I am going to miss several aspects of the hospital. The nurses are so kind and positive here-- maybe some of it is a "fake it till you feel it", but if so, that works for me. When we take Brenna out in her wheelchair, no one stares or makes a comment. I thought I had outgrown the whole stare anxiety years ago when she had some unique behaviors as a toddler, but I find myself just wanting her to feel comfortable in public and not conspicuous. It feels safe and insulated here, with a predictable routine and a lovely red button I can push when I am in a panic and don't know what to do for her.
There aren't any call buttons at home, but there are some knowledgeable friends who are willing to help us and stop in those first few days. So, we are taking a deep breath, eating our Cheerios, and packing up to come home. We'll see you soon.
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