Okay, so my daughter takes breathtaking photographs in England, Wales, Ireland... at home... pretty much wherever she is with her camera. She left a comment on my last post about the pastoral view with sheepies from the lodge and totally burst my bubble:
You'd THINK they were sheepies! But we did some super camera zoom research and realized they were some sort of feathered llama/dinosaur/giant swan things. Turns out they're just swans, but they're not as distant as they seem. ;)
*sigh* They're just swans. Swans are nice and all, but they're not sheepies.
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Mom visited with Michael for a little while this morning and called me afterwards to tell me that he was resting so peacefully and quietly, just sleeping the whole time; she massaged lotion into his hands and feet -- they're so dry. I missed my SIL and her sister today, but their notes said the same thing. I know that just that small thing was a relief to all of them. He was more restless this afternoon and evening.
I'm learning that you need to ask the right questions; information is not
always usually volunteered. He has pneumonia and pseudomonas, which are getting neither worse nor better, though the respiratory therapist said that there's been more activity this afternoon. He is breathing mostly on his own, but is not quite ready to quit the ventilator and still needs that extra bit or he'd have a collapsed lung. At this point, the ventilator is the only thing keeping him in ICU. The continuous morphine drip will be stopped tonight in an effort to get him to wake up more (and they'll continue to give it to him as needed, of course). He opened his eyes just ever so slightly tonight (just slits, really) and we've seen tears at the corners of his eyes the past few days, and grimaces that sometimes accompany the squirms. That's hard. There's going to be such pain -- the ribs, vertebra, now a shoulder blade, too. Does he see us? Can he focus? Can he hear us and understand us and remember when we tell him what's happened? I have to believe, even if we all still seem far away and fuzzy, that he does feel the love -- lots 'n lots of love -- all of our love -- and that's got to help.
I'm excited about this: It was suggested that it's not too far-fetched to think that he could be celebrating his 44th birthday, St. Patrick's Day and my 1-year quit anniversary next weekend on the floor. There won't be any green beer or corned beef and cabbage for him, but oh that would be like a pot of gold -- a little beginner baby pot, because we are going to be needing many, many more along the way -- more rainbows, more pots of gold.
Thank you, again, all, for your continued good thoughts and prayers and well wishes. They mean so much. You just don't know... I just wanted (needed) to give an update, especially since it's hopeful.
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The other really good news today is that my youngest, having not had school today, cleaned the entire kitchen -- including the floor -- without even being asked, without even a suggestion. You can knock me over with that swan feather now...