The smell of medical tape, the hard, cold feel of a sterile hospital, and the blue, green and purple poka dots that cover this place, bring me back to my first couple of weeks with my daughter. The cafeteria is making the same great food, so there is just one sense that is different this time. The sounds.
Instead of alarms going off every 5 mins from poor oxygen levels or high heart rates, we mostly hear silence from those machines. An alarm beeps, non- threateningly, every few hours when its time to change her IV bag. Replacing the heavy breathing of my daughter, is a bubbler that helps draw excess fluid from the surgery out of her chest. Her room kind of sounds like a fish tank. But the most beautiful sound, by far, is my daughters heart.
My husband's curiosity got the best of him last night, and we snuck the stethoscope off the wall just as the nurse popped her head in the room. She didn't mind, thankfully. I don't think my words can do justice to the magic we heard through that tube. If you have never held my daughter, or had the chance to listen to her sweet heart before, the best I can describe it is that it sounded and felt like it was going to burst through her chest. It had almost a hiccuping rhythm that you couldn't really tap along with it.
My eyes weld up as I heard a soft, smooth, even rhythm coming from her chest. It just sounded peaceful. A feeling rushed through me to the deepest part of my bones, I knew she was fixed. I know what a heart is supposed to sound like, and that when I put my hand on my own chest I can barely feel the heart beat underneath. But I didn't realize how incredibly hard her heart was beating until I heard the difference after the surgery. Now, I haven't had the courage to rest my hand on her small chest in fear of hurting her or touching her wound, but I know it will feel like mine.
We got to hold her today...kind of. She rested on a pillow as we held the pillow. She slept peacefully in my arms for a good half hour. I want to hold her and we can tell she wants to be held. But moving her causes pain, so we are conservative how often we move her. She sleeps a lot, but wakes frequently for just a few seconds. Her nose is obviously itchy from the drugs- something I remember very well from my c-sections and how incredibly annoying it was. Her hands are bound on boards to keep her from ripping out her many tubes and wires, which leaves her helpless to get to her nose. She keeps bashing her self in the head with her boarded arms and is getting a nice little bruise on her sweet nose. I itch it for her when I can.
Everyone is thrilled how well she is recovering. She is a strong little cookie- my fighter. I'm missing my boys and am excited for them to come up Monday with my Dad and Step Mom. This hospital has tons of play areas for the patients siblings that I can't wait to watch my boys tear up. We Skype everyday, and "kiss" and "poke" each other through the camera, which they think is hilarious. Thank God for technology. And thank God for bringing Fiona into a medically advanced world. He is great.