The next morning, Dad is still with us.  No late night phone call, no frantic rushing, a peaceful night instead.  Today he is doing much better.  He is awake, alert and though still fuzzy on some of the details, very aware of what has been going on.

For the first time in a month, we are hopeful.  We have been in the same room (the one nearest the automatic door) for almost a month.  The nursing staff has all but adopted us, it seems.  Now that Dad seems to be doing better we ask if it is possible to move him to another room away from the door.  Every time the door opens or closes he wakes him up or commands his attention.  There is a room on the other end from where we are.  The Charge Nurse, Tessie, and the Nurse Manager, Michelle, both agree it is a good idea.  We all wonder why didn't think of it sooner.

He gets set up in his new room.  He even comments on how much quieter it is.  Go figure.  The things you don't necessarily think about when you are surrounded by medical crisises.

On Monday, the doctors start to come through and talk about moving Dad down to MICU, which at Valley Hospital, is considered step down ICU.  It is on the third floor.  We have been there before after his stent replacement and after his carotid surgeries.  The Doctors say if all goes well they should be able to move him by the end of the week.

We finally begin to believe that we have caught that long hoped for break.  Dr. Takiyudden, his Kidney doctor, believes that Dad's kidneys will recover.  He is the only Kidney doctor willing to say that and we respect him for that.

I call Jon and tell him I am planning on coming home for Labor Day weekend.  I haven't been home since my trip home for a weekend in June.  I will have to come back right after the holiday because of an event I have at the Las Vegas Springs Preserve but I think I will be home for good right after that.

Life, of course, will have different plans for us.  But for now, Dad does get moved to MICU and begins to recover.  We say goodbye to the nurses in ICU who have treated us with kindness and who have worked so hard to keep Dad alive.  We owe some of them a debt of thanks that we can never repay except with kindness.  Dad is awake, alert and talking to us.  His memory is still quite foggy but considering all the medication he has been on, we take this in stride.

For a few days, I am able to return home to my husband.  The first night home, I sleep with the phone at my side, praying it never rings.  I get up in the night and in my grogginess think to myself "Why is it so dark?  Where are all the nurses?".  It takes me a few minutes to realize that I am home and not in the hospital.  I tell Jon about it the next morning and we have a laugh together. 

I talk to Mom and Serena and the news is good.  If Dad continues to do so well, they will move him to the Harmon Rehab Hospital by the end of the week.  There he will get his physical therapy, fitted for his prosthetics and begin his journey to coming home.

We wallow in the good news not realizing that it is too good to be true.