Carl, Auntie Barb, and I are all safely back to reality--although, at least to me, my St. Paul world of home and work and family seems a lot less real than that London ICU hospital bed bubble. But I imagine that will wear off.
I woke up promptly at 6 this morning (really, body?) missing Mom and Dad, so the first thing I did was go downstairs and call them on FaceTime. Dad had just had a lunch of yogurt and ice cream. I told him he's eating like a toddler, but has earned in spades the right to do so. He also had some sips of water, apple juice, and orange juice (see?! Toddler. Though I imagine the vintage of Merlot they serve in the ICU is terrible, so maybe he should stick to juice).
He got to sit on the edge of the bed yesterday afternoon and again this morning, the latter of which was accompanied by an attempt to stand, which didn't go quite so well because his blood pressure dipped. So they'll try again tomorrow, which means you can send good blood pressure thoughts (pressure cookers? Queen's "Pressure"?) all day. I'm excited to see what you come up with.
Dr. McLuckie is enjoying an extremely well-deserved day or two off, and Mom and Dad are very happy with her replacement, Dr. Retter, in part because she trained him. Dr. Retter tells them Dr. McLuckie is the most highly respected intensivist (ICU doctor) in all of England, which didn't surprise any of us in the slightest.
I'm off to do the kind of writing I get paid for, though I imagine that by about 4 this afternoon, the jet lag will have kicked in such that I won't even know my own name. So I'd better go while I can still form coherent thoughts--some of which will inevitably be used to think about and be grateful for all of you. Go Team Eric!