[Verse 1] Four to seven days, that's the standard clock we're keeping, uncomplicated run, the patient's healing while they're sleeping. But arrhythmia crashes in, the monitor starts flashing, effusion fills the sac, chylothorax comes in splashing milky-white and stubborn, infection spikes the curve — every complication adds a day you didn't deserve. The ward's not a cage, it's a scoreboard counting slow, watching numbers settle before they let the patient go. [Chorus] De l'hôpital à la maison, step by careful step we're walking Domoy, domoy — the heart keeps talking Echo clear, rhythm steady, that's the pass that we're given Mind the wound, mind the fever — that's the deal for living [Verse 2] Before the band gets cut, the echo reads the river's flow, checks the conduit's gradient, regurgitation high or low, RV function graded, pericardial fluid scanned and known. ECG strip rolling out, rhythm monitor holds the throne, conduction intervals measured, no renegade PVC. Diuretics tapered gentle, aspirin guards the artery, analgesia dosed exact, anti-inflammatories checked twice over — reconcile the chart like counting cards before the dealer's over. Nothing exits through that door till every order's signed and clean, this is the quiet arithmetic of medicine between the seams. [Verse 3] Teach the family the red flags before they clear the door — fever creeping, drainage weeping, the scar line needs a tour, chest pain tightening like wire wrapped around the sternum bone, dyspnoea on the staircase, palpitations skip and groan, syncope that drops a body — don't wait, don't rationalize, unexplained fever means blood cultures drawn before the antibiotics rise. Endocarditis prophylaxis, carry it like armor in your bag — dental chairs and dirty wounds, don't let the coverage lag. [Bridge] Pas de panique, mais reste vigilant — не жалей сердце, проверяй его, каждый день (watch the heart, check it, every single day) La cicatrice guérit, mais le rythme, il faut l'écouter — listen close, the rhythm's never done its say. [Verse 4] One to two weeks out, the clinic pulls you back again, screening for effusion creeping, post-pericardiotomy pain — low fever, pleuritic ache, a friction rub beneath the chest. Four to six weeks later comes the deeper, wider test: wound healed flat, no angry keloid rising from the line, Holter strips reveal the rhythms hiding out of sight and time. Nothing's truly over when the stitches disappear — the conduit's a river that needs watching year to year. [Chorus] De l'hôpital à la maison, step by careful step we're walking Domoy, domoy — the heart keeps talking Echo clear, rhythm steady, that's the pass that we're given Mind the wound, mind the fever — that's the deal for living [Outro] From ward to home, the conduit's a new-built river, measure it, trust it, let the echo be the giver of the all-clear sign — domoy, à la maison, recovery ain't silent — it's a rhythm, it's a song.
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