No news, really. During rounds, I brought up the fact that Jane's been stable, really stable, for a week now and given that she's been doing so well, shouldn't we maybe take advantage of it and try to decrease her settings a little? I mean, I don't want to be pushy, but chop chop, people! Let's not just wait around here! Give the girl a break while we can, am I right?
So they made one little adjustment to one of her pressure settings. Sounds like they pretty much just want to let her sit tight until the bronchoscopy (Thursday), after which Dr. Congenial said he wants to devise a plan for Jane with steady, methodical weans of both the ventilator and the steroids. Sort of like what they did earlier to get her off the oscillator. Remember? The thing that worked great until they let the excitement go to their heads?
I'm NOT bitter. Really. Really!
Jane and I spent another three hours snoogling -- this time, kiddo got the benefit of 1) my lap; 2) the Boppy; 3) the rocker; and 4) the ever-present paci. It only took thirty minutes of the combined simultaneous efforts of the above PLUS me patting her bottom to get her from this:
She's exactly adorable enough that I didn't mind having my finger clamped in her gums for nearly three hours. (Any time I tried to remove it, she'd start to wake, and if she woke, instant WAH face.) I'll just say that kiddo's got some mighty strong jaws and leave it at that. Just another example of a mother's sacrifice. (If only you could see my pose of noble suffering.)
Oh, the excellent ENT doc called Tom tonight. Sounds like they generally don't trach a kid unless they're going to be on a vent for a minimum of three months after the surgery. Three months. Um, okay. That's... okay. I'm not going to hyperventilate just yet.