You know the feeling after some ridiculously difficult ordeal when you’re suddenly able to breathe and you realize that you’ve been holding your breath for a week? I’m there. It’s a good feeling to be able to drop the load that’s on your shoulders for even a minute.
My sister was moved out of the ICU last night and into a regular pediatric room. She should be released tonight or tomorrow morning. We had a little scare after she started to improve because she lost almost all feeling in her left hand and the circulation was all but gone. Words started to be bandied around like “cell death,” “nerve damage,” and “amputation.” Fortunately the extreme amounts of blood thinner they put her on shortly afterwards have remedied that situation without such dire consequences.
So now I’m sitting here in her new hospital room and I’m looking out the window. I’ve been trying to do some work from ‘home’ on my computer but I’m just too distracted. It’s nearing dusk outside and from the top floor of this gigantic hospital, I can see for miles. Snow topped mountains and rolling, swift moving clouds are everywhere.
I can’t help but to stop and think about how much glory there is around us all the time that we don’t notice because shit hits the fan. I mean, for Christ’s sake, we’re sitting in the hospital. It’s normal not to notice the gorgeous view out the window at a time like this.
But I miss noticing that stuff.
When we’re out of here I’m going to make a greater effort, to notice the little things. I know I’ve said this before, but it’s really hard to resurface once you’ve fallen into a rut. It’s difficult to remember to pay attention and stop navel gazing. But it’s worth it, so I’m going to try harder.
It’s going to be great.