But enough about that - what's up with your eye??

It's so absurd. To have been on pins and needles about the pneumonia, your fever, your trach, your ventilator... and finally, as all of that worry has reached a plateau for now, we've begun noticing other things.

Like your left eye. The bottom white of your eye is... puffing out along the bottom of your eyelid. And we've noticed it before, but then we were a bit swept up in worrying about your lungs. The night of the fire, your eyes suffered corneal abrasions. They've been treating it steadily and your corneas have all but cleared up. But you've got scleral edema, and now, since your lungs are starting to show steady improvement, we're back to worrying about it.

I consider this a success. Picking up where we left off before the 'P' word.

So there you are, a man who's escaped an inferno (with the help of the heroes at Station 19, thankyouverymuch); a man who's not only fighting his way through smoke inhalation injuries, but pneumonia, too; a man who's faced challenges at the cellular level, what with all the toxins that absorbed into his bloodstream. And here's Asia and me: Ick. What's wrong with his eye?

I don't know, Daddy. Is an eye trivial? I don't think so. I really want you to have healthy eyes. Just because you seem to be back from the brink doesn't mean we don't want as much of you as healthy as possible. We're grateful for every blessing that has come and still, we'll continue to ask for a healing of all your wounds.

We're glad for every new day, every new triumph, every new ick factor that shows us we're starting to surmount the life or death situations and notice a little scleral edema here and there.

End of day update: Temperature: 38.3 C; Oxygen assistance: 50%; PEEP: 10. Very, very good. Now, let's start bringing down the PEEP number, Daddio.

Do not look a gift horse in the hole in the throat

It is done.

And it is good.

You look infinitely more comfortable, Dad. I thought I would be really ooged out about seeing the tracheostomy and the tube going into it, the whole bit.

But, instead, I saw your face without all the straps and tape digging into your cheeks and the corners of your mouth. I saw your lips, without gauze on them to ease the bleeding from the blisters caused by the rubbing of the tube.

I saw you. And not the apparatus.

And it is good.

They've been taking chest X-rays every night since the pneumonia reared its ugly head. And guess what? Last night's film, for the first time ever, showed enough progress that Dr. Esterhoff felt it worthy of mentioning. Apparently, there was a teeny bit of progress the night before, but they must be cautious, I imagine, about telling families of improvement until it seems like a real trend. So, today, we got to hear the good news: your lungs definitely show receding gunk.

And it is good.

Also, we've been told that sometimes, some fire smoke inhalation patients, for reasons they cannot quite explain, improve at an accelerated rate after undergoing a tracheotomy and then getting to breathe through the tracheostomy. (Do you like my context clues? I, too was confused about the difference between the two words.) The doctor told us about this phenomenon, because apparently, loved ones, after consenting to a hole in the throat because they've been told it's necessary for lengthy ventilation, tend to question having given their green light for the surgery when suddenly, the patient is off the vent in days instead of weeks.

And Dixie, Mom (Liz) and I all looked at each other and I said, "Well, you will never hear us complain that Dad got better faster!" Later, when relaying the day's conversations to Asia, I joked, "We will not look a gift horse in the hole in the throat."

She laughed.

It is good, Dad. Today is a good day.

Things we know

Recently, we've gotten a couple questions more than once and I figure there might be more of you with the same questions on your minds, so here's a few clarifications, to the best of our understanding:

Brain damage is not currently a concern. The doctors and nurses have no reason to fear that Dad has any brain damage. He was able to talk a little to the paramedics and also to the attending doc when he was admitted to the ER. Since being under the sedative and the paralytic, he's given them no signs of loss of function when they've tested his reflexes.

While the burns on his back, shoulders, arm and hand are intense, our bigger worry is Dad's lungs. He had soot coating his nostrils, mouth and throat when he was admitted. He continues to cough up and they continue to suction out sooty goop from his lungs. That stuff is in there, and as a lifelong smoker, he's got a strike already against him. The staff have made sure they've said this to us more than once. Good news: His blood oxygen (that is, the level of available oxygen that his blood is able to absorb) was at 100% today. I thought that was pretty awesome, especially considering it had been down in the low 90s a couple of days ago.

Of the burns, the burn on his left shoulder seems to be the most troublesome. I haven't seen it myself, as it's always been dressed when we're in the room, but I'm told it's a deep burn. So, if anything's going to require a skin graft, it might be that area, but they're still crossing their fingers for no skin grafts. And so are we.

We won't know what may've started the fire until Dad can tell us what he remembers. We may not ever know. What we do know is that the firemen (thank you so much, gentlemen) found him asleep on the bed in one room, whereas the fire started in the adjacent room. We also know that the fire investigator said that three or four minutes longer, and we'd be dealing with a whole different situation.

Hope this helps. Love to all.