There is not much to report. Waiting is the worst. It's also the best, because nothing horrible is happening right at the moment, but there are always doctor's appointments to remind us of the horribleness that awaits.
Among things we probably knew but didn't want to dwell on:
* Skin grafts - ug
* 24-hour nursing care needed for weeks. Much of which I find myself ill-equipped to perform, but we'll do it. We'll figure it out.
* Waivers. Signing waivers about what you could wake up to is damn depressing. It's not like they ever say anything like, "By signing this waiver you agree to the fact that you may feel better than you've felt in years. In addition, you recognize that it is entirely possible you will kick cancer's @$$. Risks include but are not limited to: health, happiness and a solid dose of f-ing relief." Yeah, the waiver didn't say that.
* A year. If all goes well, therapy will last a minimum of one year. Somebody is frustrated by this. It's not me. No complaints about this one. Not a one. This part is easy.
* A six hour surgery. Six hours. I'm cool with this, because by all means - take your time guys - let's get this right. The time is not my concern exactly. My concern is how these guys are gonna get up at five am and stay focused for a full 25% of an ENTIRE DAY on one 8 centimeter patch on Rico's leg. Hell, I can't concentrate on binge watching Netflix for six hours straight without needing a taco run - or at the very least a bathroom break. Maybe we'll just have the whole thing catered into the O.R. like a really, REALLY overdue bar mitzvah - I'm thinking Taco John's.
Thanks for all of your continued love and support. From the cool bird feeder, to our family flip-flop necklaces, the food, and the patience. We appreciate it - even more than tacos.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad