D-Day

Yesterday morning the nurses and therapists showed up in big yellow gowns and masks in our room and a tri-lingual sign was stuck on our door that announced that the Bean was in isolation. I was informed that the infectologist thought it necessary to quarantine us due to the fact that the Bean coughs and the pseudomonas bacteria can be transferred through her sputum to other medically compromised kids. Which was understandable and I was cool with it.

What I wasn't cool with and what almost made me rhythmically bang my head into the cheerfully painted wall of our PICU room, is the Beanie's withdrawal from the heavy-duty sedatives combined with her post-surgery discomfort. Since the Valium was the suspected culprit in her respiratory mishap the other night, her dose was reduced. Her reaction to the Valium was kind of strange considering that Izzy metabolizes sedatives extremely fast and she can wiggle and kick a hundred miles an hour on a dose that would knock out a particularly large lumberjack. On the smaller dose of Valium, Izzy went from manic giggling episodes to pathetic whimpering and crying spells.

Back in the days, when we found out that Izzy most likely never live independently and I desperately tried to follow the advice of the Monty Python boys to always look at the bright side of life, I thought, at least we wouldn't have to deal with the typical teenage traps that typical parents worry about, like drugs and sexting. Little did I know that drug withdrawal would be indeed on the horizon for us, which is at least as unfair as the simultaneous occurrence of cystic acne and wrinkles. Oh well, at least we are still safe from sexting. (In case you have a teen at home and you are not familiar with the term, you might want to look that one up.)

As it turned out, Izzy's PMS-from-hell-like behavior was probably triggered by a blown-up painful IV in her hand. Her distress also looked worse than usual due to her drastically improved awareness, expressiveness and vocalization.

Free from the constant attacks of the godforsaken seizures on her brain, the refurbished bionic Bean is full of giggles and mischief. I cannot accurately express how happy it makes us to see her gain new skills and be empowered. Last night, when Daddy showed up after a long day of work, Izzy couldn't stop laughing out loud and almost popped from excitement.

It looks like today is D-day and we are going to be discharged soon. You know you've been at the hospital too long when you feel that you will miss seeing and hanging out with the medical professionals at the hospital. Maybe it's a freaky version of the Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe we just really lucked out with the staff of this hospital. In fact, I know it's the latter: they've been putting up with me patiently and graciously for two and a half weeks and nobody once called security on me.