Some dad, huh...?

Dear Nicky,

Here you are back home and on the mend to an amazing degree, and what have I been doing at night? The answer is, just posting a couple lines to my only son because I'm so sleepy that I have to get to bed as soon as I can because I'm falling asleep at my keyboard. Forgive me, my boy. In my defense I must say how exhausting staying at the hospital was, not that there was any alternative in the matter: there was simply no way either Mom or myself was going to leave your side. (We actually did leave your side just a few times, especially the first few hours in the ICU because you were totally out, and it was okay to leave you because your ICU nurse Eunice was on top of things; but after we left the ICU we didn't leave you alone at all.) Hospital rooms are always cold, there's nothing for nonpatients to eat except junk, and the sleeping accommodations are a bitter joke. With alarms going off constantly, who could sleep anyway? So for about a week, Mom and I were like a couple sleep deprived zombies, and we were cranky, dirty, and generally uncomfortable. But our discomfort was nothing compared to yours. After all, you had open heart surgery. I tell you, my boy, the day of your surgery, I could tell when they cut into you. It was as if it were being done to me. But anyway, you made it through with flying colors. The first 24 hours you were totally out, but you very quickly came around. Ironically, the better you got, the more uncomfortable you became, and we couldn't wait to get you out of there. On Tuesday afternoon when they sent us home, we cold tell you were much happier because we put you in your car seat in your stroller, and that means a ride to you. I think you knew we were done at the hospital and were looking forward to getting out of there. That Tuesday was a cold and rainy day, but it was very happy for all of us. The next day was your one-week surgery anniversary, and you were feeling so good you rolled over onto your belly by yourself with no problem. You displayed great awareness and strength that, when your arm was pinned, you were able to unpin it all by yourself. Your appetite has doubled; it's off the charts. You take bottles like the old days. It's actually a little scary, frankly, because it is such a contrast to your behavior immediately prior to surgery. You're taking an increased amount of solids now, too. You're still uncomfortable sometimes, and we give you Tylenol. Also, the docs have you on a couple diuretics, one a liquid ("Lasex"), and the other a pill, which I must quarter then grind the quarter into a powder ("Aldactone"). Both are a challenge to get into you. You still aren't napping much during the day, although you tend to sleep well at night, except that you wake up once a night now at odd times, demanding to be fed. Your new, improved heart is probably making your body go, "Oh, okay, now I get it--I need lots of food!" We really couldn't be happier about your appetite. We've given you a couple bath, and we had to cut your hair; the back was unsalvagably tangled. The bath finally got that strip of tape off your chest today, but the adhesive from the heart monitors is still stuck all over you; that stuff's hard to get off. So you look good, you sound good, and we think you're on your way to really feeling good. Mom and I are so happy, Nick. We're so happy to see you doing better, being strong, eating well, being even pinker than before. We're just so happy! We're taking you to Dr. Solo for a follow-up next week, and I really hope your echo is astonishingly good. It'd be nice to just cross your heart issues off the record, you know? No more worries, wouldn't that be great? Well, I guess I've got us up to date now, so I'll say good night. I'm so proud of how brave and strong you are, through this and so many other times, my little Nick, my son.

Love,
Dad