Babygirl has been headache-free since this morning at 8. She is clear-eyed and sunglasses-free. We had breakfast together in the cafeteria, and took another walk to get a new movie (Eclipse - sorry, I tried to get one more 'classic' in). She's still not eating much and picked clear liquids for lunch and dinner, but that's not a problem. No more fevers either. If she wakes up without a headache we'll likely be on our way home. Infectious disease has signed off the case, and I've pushed neurology to get some prevention meds started.
Please keep praying, fingers and toes crossed!
Now let me change the subject. Remember the iPod?
I was listening to my iPod when the nurse came in and told Babygirl had been moved upstairs to recover from anaesthesia, a totally unexpected move that in retrospect seems fairly trivial but at the time was rediculously traumatic. Somewhere between there and our return to our hospital room, the iPod vanished. I retraced my steps the next day, going from MRI to PACU and back. I searched our room. I called security and they checked the lost and found and there was no iPod.
Ah, well. Babygirl is doing well and although I can't afford to replace it, I can live without it. Given how hysterical I got over an unexpected elevator ride, I was really not upset about this. It's just stuff, right? And if we've learned nothing else in the past year and a half it's that stuff doesn't matter - people do. In fact, when a dad on our floor was searching for an iPod charger I gave him mine. After all, I'm not going to need it anymore, right?
When I checked my email last night there was a note from a total stranger telling me he thought he'd found something of mine at CHOP, and that he'd turned it in to the lost and found. I checked the time stamp on the email, and it predated my check with security. It was puzzling enough, though, that I physically went to security and asked in person, telling them about the email.
My iPod was right there.
I've emailed back and forth a couple of times with him. He was the young man in the PACU waiting room who magically produced a box of tissues when I started crying. He and another CHOP employee calmed me down and comforted me when I was alone and afraid. They, with the young man who delayed leaving work to escort me to the correct place are the heroes of my stay this week. I'm pretty sure there is nothing in any of their job descriptions that includes tantruming adults, but they were marvelous nonetheless.
Kindness is never wasted. And how hard is it, anyway? I feel like I was repaid in 5 minutes for every time I've been the one to whip out the tissues and hold a hand.
But I think I'm going to need a new iPod charger. Some forms of kindness apparently work out better than others LOL!