July 11 Update

Josh is doing really great today. He's up and around walking, and made about 1 and 1/4 laps around the ICU unit today. He's also been sitting upright in a recliner chair most of the day.

Josh said that sitting up in the chair has really improved his ability to feel like he was breathing normally again. His lungs were compressed a bit during surgery, and the lower alveoli in his lungs need to re-expand. Otherwise, he's doing great!

He is on oxygen, but it's steadily been lowered. Each of his vitals are completely normal now, and his blood pressure is normal without the need for epinephrine. In fact, while he still has one IV line in his arm, he's been disconnected from 2 IVs, 2 drainage tubes, an arterial line in his neck, and a catheter. Strangely, without the ventilator, balloon pump and bank of IVs, his room seems somewhat sparse and spartan. But we're grateful that Josh's body is back in control!

Right now, Josh is eating a sandwich all on his own, the first time in several days. He seems much more alert this evening, and is slowly getting his appetite back. He's not on much medicine, either, and has refused a few doses of pain meds. We're just so grateful that he's doing well and proud of how dedicated he is to getting himself better—and doing the work to get there.

We'll be doing one more little walk tonight, and some more walking tomorrow. Hopefully in the morning, Josh will be moved off the ICU wing and into his own post-recovery room (which is a lot more like a normal hospital room).

The nurses keep coming by to sign his heart pillow, which is becoming bittersweet: Josh will be just down the hall, but not on the Cardiac ICU unit anymore, so he will have different nurses attending to him. I've gotten teary eyed as we've said a soft "so long" to the most amazing people I've ever met. We'll post some pictures of Josh with his awesome nurses as soon as they can slow down long enough to take one.

Thank you to everyone for the kind thoughts and warm wishes. In our next edition, hopefully we'll continue to have rapid improvements to report, as well as some more pictures; if you have photos of Josh, please send them to me via email at me@robbiebyrd.com or text them to (512) 573-0077.

It's been a long, strange 12 days. I wanted to share some things I've learned during my time in the hospital:

• The temperature between one room and the next can vary up to +/- 45 degrees. Always carry a jacket, and wear pants you can roll up and down, depending on if you're in the Fires-of-Hell Wing or Hell-Hath-Froven-Over Wing.
• Doctors do not have first names. Nurses do not have last names.
• Most doctors have a lack of personality, which is fine, because most nurses have a delightful excess.
• Nurses come in two flavors: age 25 and age 50. There are no deviations from this rule.
• Save all the extras that come with hospital meals: salt, margarine, jam and even strange, nondescript seasoning packets. I believe we have collected so much plastic cutlery that, if this were a prison, we'd start an armory.
• When you see him coming around, develop a close and deep bond with the guy who repairs the vending machines. Tell him your life story, make him invested: he will end up being your savior when you least expect it.
• Some things that look like a urinal are, in fact, not.
• Anthropomorphize the machines. At first you will fear them and their beeps and alarms. You'll be distrustful of this overpriced, 30-year-old looking contraption to save your loved one's life. But if you give them patience, and a cute nickname, it'll be easier to trust that they know what they're doing. The reason they're 30 years old is because they don't break down.
• When your patient says they want to sleep, leave them the hell alone. If they say "I've got it," believe them. Let go, get out of there, and stop being a nosy, pestering nuisance. The anxiety caused by your control issues and emotional instability are not the problem of the patient. At least not until they're completed healed, and then yes, your issues are their problem again for sure.
• Don't forget your razor. You will leave here either with a Sasquatch face or furry legs–or both.
• Make friends with everyone. I'm lucky to have a Golden Retriever personality, which means I hit it off with most anyone. The small, generous gestures that I get from my new friends here at the hospital keep me going. Each day, the security guard and I exchange a few minutes of chatter, my favorite cafeteria worker always slides me an extra couple of pieces of bacon or "forgets" to charge me for one of my 3-time-a-day banana habits, me and the staff of Starbucks sing along with the store music, and I always do a silly dance or funny face into the video security system before the nursing staff lets me back to Josh's room.
• Enhance your comfort in any way you can, even if it includes looking like the Clampetts are coming to stay. You will struggle to get that 3" thick memory foam mattress on the elevator, but your back will thank you later.
• Buy good shoes. Like the kind of orthopedic Skechers that your friends will make fun of you for wearing. Despite the patient being relatively still, you will most definitely not be.
• Likewise, if you happen to be in a Southern hospital, have spare socks and delicates on you at all times and change them regularly. You will sweat like woah. As Lt. Dan reminds us, take care of your feet.
• You can also never underestimate the importance of antibacterial hand gel, face wipes, baby powder and a good eye mask. Dry Shampoo is also your friend, because the next shower is basically a mirage. You gotta treat yourself a little.
• Don't touch the buttons, despite the temptation. They do not do what you think they do.
• Find something productive to do with your hands. Crochet, knit, do beadwork, bedazzle... it's up to you. If you don't, you will either go crazy or start pushing buttons that you shouldn't.