Wait, what? We Are Home!!
Yesterday we got another chest x-ray to determine whether we could pull the chest tube and instead we got some discouraging news. His upper lobe had gotten much smaller since just after the surgery. Lots of big words were used to describe the possibilities - the only word I heard was “collapsed.” To the surgeons it didn’t seem like it was leaking, and it didn’t seem like there was pressure (fluid) smooshing it, so the thought was that the airways leading to it were clogged/congested. Hopefully not so much that they would need to be cleared through surgical intervention, something that clearly worried the surgeons. So they gave us “homework.” We needed to work him very hard during the day. Get him exercising that lung.
The exercises included walking, running, coughing, blowing bubbles, reaching for bubbles to pop - anything to get him breathing deeply or to stretch the right chest area. Fortunately we had a big contingent of friends and family to help. He wasn’t walking yet but he could now sit down in a chair. So Crash held court taking all comers in a massive perpetual bubble blowing contest. No one has mastered the bubble inside a bubble technique like daddy but that didn’t deter Crash from blowing bubbles for hours. The crew kept him active well past the end of visiting hours, where the evenings activities concluded with contraband margaritas and strawberry ice-cream for the Crash man. It was a long day but Crash was Crash throughout, despite mobility challenges.
After a somewhat fitful sleep, in part due to Crash’s resistance to take his Tylenol, we awoke to the call of the X-Ray team. Crash fights x-rays but he managed to stay still long enough to prove that the previous day’s activities were fruitful. He had cleared his airways enough that his upper lobe had once again fully expanded. Some concerns about some fluid but we will interrogate that again on Friday. But the good news is that we can pull the tube and see how he fares.
Pulling the chest tube is as simple as a dose of morphine, removal of a suture and a quick pull - literally, a quick pull. Some gauze and tape and he’s good to go. And boy was he good to go.
As soon as he realized he wasn’t hooked up to anything anymore he insisted we go outside, and to bring his new toy golf clubs with him. Now mind you, he hadn’t been walking yet. Whether it was the new-found freedom or the effects of the morphine didn’t much matter to daddy, Charlie and dad walked out of the ward hand in hand all the way to the healing garden, with Crash pushing the door buttons himself. And once outside, Crash pushed daddy’s hands away, grabbed his clubs and started hitting balls. Soon, as he gained his balance, he insisted on playing hide and seek with Daddy and Aunt Jenny - which meant he was far away from us running around trying to find us.
One of his surgeons, after not finding us in our room or in the playroom, made her way to the garden only to find Crash in his diaper and loose fitting hospital gown literally running down the path seemingly unaccompanied. I’m not sure whether the shock on her face was her reaction to my parenting or to the transformation Crash had made. Regardless, it was evident to all that he was ready to go home.
And HOME we came. Arriving before the start of rush hour, after a quick nap in his own bed, Crash immediately wanted to go to the playground and the trampoline. That was a bit much even for daddy so mommy put a helmet on him and he took a welcome home bike ride victory lap around the neighborhood. We go back to chemo on Friday but this was an amazing end to this very significant chapter in the journey.
One that we and he could not have done without the tremendous level of support we’ve gotten from so many people. I’ve said that it has been a bit overwhelming and it has been. Years from now when we explain to Crash how he got his scars the support you all provided will be a critical part of the story.
So again, thank you all for everything.