Out of ICU and back to our home-sweet-home, the 10th floor. Luke did amazingly last night. He ate, he drank, he played, he fed me Cheerios... and he slept. Which also means I slept, albeit in a room with two other beds and hourly vitals. Hey, I will take 4 hours any way I can get them.
Luke did vomit when we got on the floor and is just feeling crummy. It actually makes me feel better that he is showing some post-op symptoms because, to be real honest, I wasn't convinced they may have forgotteb to do brain surgery with as chill as he was last night. At least now, even though he feels poorly, I know that he is reacting normally for a child undergoing two brain surgeries in one week.
We really like normal.
As my man-child lays on top of me I try to soak in every smell of his vomit breath, the feel of his breathing, the feel of his filthy hair.
Yesterday was big, but today is monumental. Today we see.
I lay here and battle the confidence I want to carry that the surgery was a success. I want to put good thoughts out there and have faith. But then I also remember that Luke has tuberous Sclerosis and the seizures may come back. I want to be prepared. I keep up my guard, ready for the surprise attack.
As he starts to wake, he startled and stretches. Every time he jumps, my heart jumps with it ready to press the button to alert the nurse that the seizures have begun again...
I wonder if that will ever stop and then I laugh to myself.
I'm a mom, duh, I've been warned, I will never stop. We will always be ready to fight for our babies. No matter if they are 3 years old or 32. It's never a question. We are always ready for battle when we love so fiercely. Our armor never gets put away.
I guess sooner or later you just get strong enough to not notice it is on.
Mother of two amazing little boys, one who just happens to be a TS warrior.