PSHU, where everybody knows your name

Let me tell you what it's like to be in the PSHU (a place we truly love): you are waiting and waiting and finally your baby comes out of surgery and you're on an extreme high, almost giddy really. One is flooded with emotions: relief and immense gratitude toward the surgeons. Next comes the staring. Everyone watches the monitors, the baby, the lines, the drainage tubes, the toes, the coloring, the p-wave; she's sat-ing at 100% for the first time in her life! She's pacing perfectly, her heart rate is 140, up from 40 a few hours ago! The parents watch the cardiologists, the cardiologists watch the surgeons, the surgeons watch the parents, all eyes to the monitors again, nurses scurrying. X-rays are taken of lungs looking for fluid. Blood is drawn for blood gasses. Fluid given through IVs, nasal cannula taped to cheeks pushes oxygen through a tiny nose. Tegaderm everywhere. Sedatives, pain meds, calcium, bicarbonate, all through IVs. Then she wakes up. "Mama" in a scratchy voice from intubation. Everyone smiles. Still waiting. A tiny sense of fear or trepidation begins to seep through the joy. It can't be this good, what will happen next? Surgeons leave and nurses busy themselves. Still  mom and dad sit waiting. Then it happens: screaming, writhing, pulling, rolling, reaching for the door. She is awake, full of fear and anger and hunger...and there's nothing that anyone can do to soothe her. The time is 11pm. She screams, quiets for a few minutes and repeats. At 4:30 mom and dad are asked to step out for an X-ray. They collapse on recliners in the tiny waiting room. Dad's alarm goes off and mom rushes to extract it from a pocket. She thinks it is the PSHU calling with bad news. She runs down the hall toward her baby's screams. It's 6:00 am and for the next 7 hours nothing can be done to calm or soothe the baby. Utter hopelessness is what that feels like. Doctors and nurse practitioners are consulted. Versed is stopped; did it cause irritation? Screaming continues, she can't open her eyes, they are swollen shut. Bolus of fentanyl, tylenol given, then phenobarbital, toradol. Nothing helps. Now mom and dad are crying. Child life sends a music therapist to sing and play the guitar. More screams; why hasn't she exhausted herself? Where is her fluid, is her urine output on track, how is her liver, are her intestines awake, can she please have a drink? Finally, mom and dad are allowed to give her ice chips. She has an insatiable appetite for ice. "More, more," she signs, until the nurse says enough and starts a new sedative, precedex. Still screaming. FINALLY at 1:30 after 4 oz of Pedialyte, she sleeps. Ahhhh....