Little Jonah came home today. I just checked his mama's Facebook (I know, aren't we so technological), and found this message that she wrote to another friend:
[oxygen] for the past two days, and then decided he was ready to try on his own again. He was released from the hospital late today. He is very weak and fragile, but better at home than in the hospital. We have been praying, hoping, crying, begging for another miracle for our baby and God has listened. We still have a long, winding road ahead, but we have taken a huge step forward in coming home. If you have any prayers to spare, we could still use a few.
Dave and I have been in tragedy for the past few weeks. Jonah has been very sick and given a very grim possibility of life. He was on the ventilator for about seven days but has made a truly miraculous turn around. He was breathing with the help of some O2
I read this and started crying just now. Maybe it was the horrendous shift I had at work (which I'll probably write about tomorrow, once I've amassed even more stories to share) or maybe I'm just tired, but I guess I never realized how sick my little friend really was. When his mama says a grim possibility of life, I know she's not exaggerating, because Jonah has been on that razor's edge so often that she knows its face far too well.
But Jonah is home now, tottering around on his little toothpick legs, learning to eat and walk and breathe again despite everything he's been through. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to chalk this one up in the miracles column.
And then I'm going to bed, because minor surgery on the ward, two feet from other patients on either side, is just not something calculated to make you feel well-rested after a shift.
Hope tomorrow is a better shift for you.