I love this quote. It could be my life verse; so accurate a description of finding myself in the position of watching the multi-faceted and polarized experience of living unfold like a twisting kaleidoscope.

After being checked in, we took the familiar walk past the double doors and measured height and weight. When I watch him during intake, I never cease to be amazed by the routine of it. How he so confidently removes all of the extra weight (shoes, jackets, etc.) and steps on the scale now. How he teases the techs by scooching his feet out as far as he can, then pops back and stretches himself as tall as he can muster. Can you believe that he is now 3' 10" tall and weighing in at 55 pounds?! This means that our gentle giant continues to remain in about the 90th percentile for height and 90-95th percentile for weight.

We get settled into our room and when asked, he tells the nurse that he is there to have a big picture taken of his heart. He knows exactly where he wants his IV to go. He shows everyone in great detail. His right arm, at the cephalic vein (forearm). Mom knows the words, but he points. He's disappointed when the best spot is in his hand. It's the only resistance he has. They place the IV without tears or fuss. Dad helps him change into his scrubs and neatly folds them into his backpack. He gets a red allergy bracelet, a yellow bracelet (fall risk?), and his ID bracelet. His stuffed turtle, Turtelly, gets an ID bracelet, too. While we wait, Tobin shows us that he can spell turtle on his phone while he searches for videos of real life turtles. "Tu - uh - err - tu - ull - and a magic 'e.'"

They were a little late in the schedule, but came back to retrieve us around noon. We are all hungry and looking forward to pancakes soon. Tobin is prepared for loopy juice (which we didn't need) and his sleeping potion as we are wheeled down the halls to the CT imaging room. Tobin remarked later about the giant donut in the twinkle star room, and Fred and I agreed they should consider a frosted donut wrap for the machine. The sleeping potion stings a little (or a lot) and Tobin cries as his eyes close fast and heavy. I pray he doesn't remember this part and that we won't have to fight that battle in the future. Fred and I wait around the corner for fifteen minutes before we're told it's finished and our family unit is escorted back up to a recovery room with the sweet, if not curmudgeonly, face of Mr. Carl Fredericksen painted on the door.

Turns out Carl was a bit of an omen, because we soon learned our sweet Tobin is full of sass and vinegar post-anesthesia. It's really the first time we've witnessed it with his fully formed personality. From the moment he woke up, his brow was almost permanently knitted together in frustration and contempt. Unfortunately, after waking up, his heart rate was at a very slow 50-something beats per minute, dropping occasionally into the high 40's. His sleeping potion - Propofol - is often associated with a significant decrease in arterial blood pressure and heart rate. We were asked to take a short walk to try and get things moving. Tobin let us know in no uncertain terms that he wanted to remain in bed. After some cajoling, we convinced him to walk around the corner and pick out a balloon. We warned that he might still feel a little funky, so we would go slow and careful. He glared and informed us that he was NOT, in fact, funky. Once we were at the balloons, he was unimpressed by their impressive selection and settled on a shark balloon. (It is an amazing balloon and he is quite fond of it now.) Then, it was a defiant progression back to his blankets and pillow.

More than two hours later our heart rate was still much lower than normal so they ordered an EKG. The young man sent to help was excited when I let him know that he would need to place Tobin's stickers in reverse due to his dextrocardia. Apparently, Tobin was his first. He wasn't sure if he needed to reverse the limbs as well as the thoracic stickers and in the moment I couldn't recall. We did it both ways. After comparing to previous results, the answer (we think) was yes, those get reversed as well. His rhythm's seemed normal, albeit slow. About thirty minutes later we were discharged with recommendations to take things easy for the day.

As we were waiting for the wheelchair to escort us to the parking lot, there was a knock on the door and in stepped an angel wrapped in sunshine - our sweet Beth - who wrapped me in the deepest, warmest hug. Oh, God, thank you for sending her - because I needed that. Beth was one of our first nurses in the CVICU after Tobin was born. They share a birthday. You can hear her happy voice in the background of many early "home away from home" videos. Before she took a leave to finish school for anesthesiology, she was on our designated care team list and will forever be a special part of our family. Having her walk into our room just filled me with absolute joy and gratitude. For her. For the dearest friends we have made on our journey. For their continued love and light. For the reminder of just how far we truly have come. It is immeasurably beautiful and an invaluable gift.

Our wheelchair arrives and we make haste to the car. Tobin has his heart set on chocolate chip pancakes. One of our favorite breakfast spots had just closed. Perkins has permanently closed. We wonder if they've all closed, because our local Perkins also closed several months ago. We are also worried about rush hour traffic. We decide to stop in Blaine. While happily eating, I get an alert that we have new tests results, albeit they had not been reviewed by our cardiologist. With tempered expectations we read: Bilateral Glenn shunts: widely open (Yay!). Pulmonary veins: draining without obstruction (Yay!). Pulmonary arteries: widely open (Yay!).

The remainder of the day Fred and I were content but exhausted. Thankfully, Kaydence picked up Cecelia from play practice and the two of them were able to forage for dinner independently and have some fun while they were out. Tobin struggled with his doctor's orders to remain low-key, especially after we were all back home. The energy of youth and the speed at which their whole life must be lived in quick, successive moments has never been so starkly contrasted with the steady measure of an adult simply trying to process the day.

This morning, he is off to school with nary a worry around him. He insists on wearing the same clothes he wore for half of yesterday, and decide it's a battle I'm willing to relinquish. I receive a phone call from our cardiology team. First with the alert that everything was fine, not to panic. Then we talked first about the surprise of our appointment. While we have had our bumps in the system, I love how our team responds and chooses to advocate for change with us. She also shares that Dr. Joy reviewed the images and was pleased to see how everything was flowing. Tobin's single ventricle system is working optimally, exactly as it has been designed to do, and he has been given clearance to wait two years before his next heart cath procedure! Cue: BIG celebration! We also talked about the new reaction to the Propofol and are looking into whether or not we feel it necessary for Tobin to wear a Holter monitor for a day as a measure of extreme caution. Conversation is still pending. Still, our joy is not diminished because his results are such a huge win.

Answers to prayer accompanied by lingering questions. Laughter through tears. Companions in the loneliness. Hope over fear. Beauty from ashes. Another day in our crazy, blessed life.