Two chest X-rays, one CT scan, and one hour in the OR and I had my little Brave back in my arms, his right intermediate bronchus minus this chunk of peanut (forgive the giant red blob that is my thumbnail).
Brave and I stayed at the hospital for 5 days, undergoing breathing treatments and antibiotics to counter the inflammation and fluid buildup around where the peanut had been. The nurses on Ward 7 all recognized Brave and were glad to see him. It was a sweet time just me and my little guy, though I am glad to be able to have an intelligible conversation again. Thai nurses aren't much for conversation in English, nor is my almost 2-year-old. I had nothing to do with my tongue, in fact, but lick McDonald's ice cream and pray, both of which are sweet and addicting. I prayed over my children and their spouses and my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and my friends and their children. I prayed for the lost and I prayed for my cousin Ryan and I prayed for my husband who was back home building pillow forts with Bright and Zion. I prayed in the operating room where Brave once again refused to be knocked out. The anesthesiologist kept pumping more drugs into his line and I heard her mutter, "Strong American!" when she thought I couldn't hear her. He he, madam, I heard you alright, and it made me smile from ear to ear.
Now I am back to the grind. No more long hours of prayer. No more trays of food delivered to me three times a day. No more Animal Planet. But I DID find new pictures of our little girl in my email inbox when I got back!!!! Oh sweet Jubilee, we're coming for you, baby!