I'm guessing most of us take breathing for granted. Respiration is instinctual. We don't have to think about it. We just do it. But as I've sat here these past five weeks, watching my son work for every breathe, I've become increasingly aware, and thankful, for the miracle of breathe. I'm conscious of air passing through my nose, down my windpipe, into the furthest reaches of my lower lobes, and back out again in regular, rhythmic sine waves. Instinct. Yet easier for some than others.
They're continuing to wean Eric through the night. He's at PSV (pressure support ventilation) 10, FiO2 .45. (When we arrived here last Sunday, these were at 35 and .80.) In 25 minutes, at 3:00 AM, they'll take one more step, PSV to 5, then they'll turn off his NG tube feeding (so he doesn't vomit) in preparation to take the endotube out in the morning. Perfect timing, as his brother Andrew, Bob's mom Pat, and our pastor are coming to visit tomorrow. So as I sit here in this darkened ICU room, listening to Eric breath, I pray for his strength and continued healing.