Fever and skin buds

Last night you spiked a fever. You'd been riding on the high side all day yesterday, but you pushed up to 39.5 degrees Celsius, which is 103.1 degrees Farenheit. I have now entered that number in a few different converters because I think, somewhere along the line, one of the nurses misspoke and told me that 39 degrees was equal to 104 (it's actually 102.2), so I kind of freaked when I heard you were at 39.5. I don't think 103.1 is great, but holy moly, it's better than over 104 degrees! In any case, the fever could be some kind of infection, or it could just be your body's massive effort to recover from the trauma. They already had you on an antibiotic, the course of which you completed last night, so they must now wait 24 hours to begin another cycle. They've sent all kinds of fluids of yours off to the labs (as they do every three days) but it takes three days to culture. So, they'll likely put you on antibiotics tomorrow, just as a safety play. While I was there this morning, your temperature dropped from 39.4 to 39.2. Were you trying to calm me down? It worked.

On to better news: You're growing skin buds on your back! Your new nurse Jennifer took me on a verbal tour of the topography of your burns this morning, after she'd seen them for the first time during the change of your dressings. Skin buds = new skin = good news! (Here's a glossary of commonly used Burn ICU terms.) Whether or not you'll need skin grafts, we still don't know, but it's great to know that your body is rejuvenating where it can. You are so strong, Daddy. So is the specialized medicine you're getting: from your Burn ICU team, and from the prayers of all your family and friends.

Also: They upped your oxygen mix on the ventilator from 50 to 60 percent which has, in turn, improved your blood gasses and helped you breathe alot easier. 60 percent is a common mix to need at this stage, we're told. Your pulse ox was at 95 and 96 percent yesterday, and today, when I left, it was at 97 percent. Come on, lungs.

No promises

Colleen and Dixie say the doctor alluded to two glimmers of good news: 1) You are starting to exhale less crap out of your lungs, which hopefully means time on the "Agitator 4000" is coming to an end, and 2) You may not need skin grafts.

These are not official prognoses. These are guarded musings.

But we'll take 'em.

Forrest came home today. Asia and I watched him walk into the waiting area from customs, and he just looked so great. Big smile. Cool hat (hope he finds that -- it sort of disappeared). He was Mr. Continental, Photographer At Large. He took the news in the best possible way you could expect. He was a champ. Tore up, but standing up. We waited at Chaise's parents with Trish and Lydia until your next visiting hour, then headed over. It was hard on Forrest, but he did well. He happened to see you at a time of complete and total sedation, so you didn't much move at all. Which really disturbed him. That hadn't happened yet. Funny, Dad. With your kids, you're damned if you move, damned if you don't!

But seriously, I think you're finally sleeping. I feel as if you're actually getting rest these last couple of times I've seen you. As if your consciousness has finally said, "Okay. I trust these people now. I'm tired. You have the helm, I going to bed." And I think that has to be doing your body some good.

Tonight, Lee, Colleen, Jeff, Dixie, Byron, Asia, Forrest and I all gathered at Dixie's to get the download on progress with the house. Then we went to grab a bite and a drink. Forrest's girlfriend joined us. Once again this week, we thought, "Well, crap. He'll be pissed he missed this, too!"