The fog is lifting

This morning, one of the first questions Shane squeaked out was "Where are we? The hospital?"

Clearly, Shane is putting the pieces together. We just hope he doesn't assemble the whole puzzle. Knowing him, though, he will.

As Kylee was encouraging him to get more sleep this morning, he asked "Will sleeping make my tonsils grow back?" What three year old even understands the idea of something being surgically removed from their body, let alone the theoretical potential of that body part growing back during sleep?

I told you he's smart.

He also misted up when thinking about his brothers, emoting "I miss Benny. I miss Casey. I really really just want to go home." I know Shaney, me too.

The morning's highlight so far was his first solid breakfast since last Tuesday (as pictured above). He picked and stabbed at the small-portioned plate, but didn't really eat all that much. After a few bites, he said "My tummy hurts."

Shortly after that, the doctors came around to discuss our little dude. They all agreed Shane's doing very well (considering his circumstances) and should be moved to the floor (hospitalese for "a general non-ICU room"). Kylee and I are excited because "the floor" has private bathrooms and showers in each room, as opposed to the 150-yard roundtrip relief walk and bathing in a public shower on the floor above us. (Sounds like I'm complaining. I'm not. I'd walk 15,000,000 yards and not shower at all if it meant I got to stay with any of my kids in their hospital room.)

Shaney has since been ordered to ingest only clear liquids (which, thankfully for Shane—and every sick kiddo on the planet—includes popsicles). This is in preparation for a new, hardier IV to be put in his arm and the main arterial line taken out of his groin. This way, he can continue to receive his antibiotics via IV at home, if it comes to that.

We'll still be here at The Children's Hospital for another few days...and we'll just keep on posting updates. We've said it a lot—and we continue to mean it with raw and tearful intensity—Thank You for your prayers, encouragement and love. A selfish request: don't stop.