Oh what a difference 24 hours makes.

This morning, the PICU nurse announced that we would be moving to the floor today. 

I argued with her. I begged. I offered lunch and dinner for the whole PICU staff if they would keep us just one more night.

 You see,I spent last night pressing her morphine button every 30 minutes all night long. The nurse came in every hour. She had to check her THREE IVs. Her chest tube that was draining a tremendous amount of blood. Her pain was hard to manage. Her heart rate elevating was our biggest clue, because she never complained. She had a high level of oxygen needed to keep her stats up. 

I liked the comfort of knowing that we had one nurse, right outside the door, whose only job all night long was to monitor Gianna and fix every problem as it arose.

The nurse laughed and said, "Don't worry she'll be ready. Oh, and she needs to get up and walk today..."

What?!??!? It has been LESS than 24 hours since she had major surgery.

And then the flurry started. Xrays were taken. Three different Doctors came to make decisions. Her arterial line was removed. Her oxygen was lowered to the lowest setting. Respiratory therapists came every hour. She needed blood. And diuretics. Antibiotics. Pain meds.

Then breakfast came. Breakfast? Yup, we got her to eat. And drink. 

So her IVs were stopped. Oral pain meds were started.

And before I knew it, she was plopped in my lap. She snuggled right into my chest and contentedly fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke, she ate chicken nuggets, french fries, and grapes.

As of this evening, she is totally off oxygen, she has walked a few steps, sat in her daddy's lap and is the proud owner of a lavender butterfly back brace. And she is indeed down on the floor.

The power of prayer and the faithfulness of our God is an amazing thing. I credit this rapid turnaround to the Great Physician who has heard our cries, and is healing my sweet girl.

I am in awe.