A View From the Tenth Floor

 

On Friday, December 21st, my son had extensive reconstructive surgery on his right rib cage. This wasn't a planned surgery, in fact we had less than 48 hours to prepare for the operation. Thankfully, the surgery was a success, and my son was discharged on Christmas Eve.

On the evening of December 23rd, my son was walking slow laps around the 10th floor of the children's hospital in Memphis. He was determined to be well enough to be discharged home for Christmas. 

 

This is my journal entry from that night:

During the last slow lap through the halls, we stopped at each window to look at the lights of Memphis. While we picked out the bridge to Arkansas, and the holiday lights on the bank building, I looked at Ryann's reflection in the window.
 

Tired, pale, but out of bed, he's made great progress. Hopefully he'll have a good night and be able to go home tomorrow morning. 

 

His recovery won't be easy but six months from now I pray he will have healed and once more be able to lift, push, and pull. But for the next few months -- we must take things slow. I'm exhausted from worry and standing vigil during surgery, and now in recovery. I pray for a renewed spirit as we move through the months ahead.
 

As we turn and continue our walk, I gaze down the long hall on this floor dedicated to burn, trauma, surgery, and cardiac patients. Many of these children will spend this Christmas, and those to come, in the hospital.

Some will go home... 

but to Heaven, instead of their earthly dwelling.

Some will need years of therapy and rehab.

And some, like my son, are expected to go home and live a long life.
Despite my worries and exhaustion, I have no room to complain. 

 

I hold Ryann's hand and we walk down the hall.
My view is bordered by hope and shaded in gratitude.

I couldn't ask for better scenery!