The first thing I saw from Rico this morning was a text: call me as soon as you can.
I did, but he was tired, and I wanted to make sure I got the whole scoop, so I called the nurse. His fevers were spiking to 103, they needed to operate on him as soon as possible to clean up a hematoma however, they couldn't operate until they gave him a blood transfusion. After doing all of the math, the nurse said the earliest they could operate would be 4pm.
Rico and I made the decision for me to stay with the kids through lunch. That way I could get a start on theater camp this week, make sure all three kids were set for tonight, and sneak in a birthday lunch with Punk (and his delightful girlfriend who happens to share his birthday).
We were just finishing cake when I get a call from Mayo. It's my contact nurse, Lori.
"I'm so sorry," she says, "I never thought I'd be calling you. . ."
No. No. No. No.
But especially not now.
". . . again. I thought he was done the first time. It's so crazy he's back in here."
Lori, you're great, but let's work on your delivery.
Turns out, his transfusion took less time than they thought, and they grabbed an O.R. as soon as it was available. It also seems that it was not a hematoma after all. It was a build up of fluid from the operation. The surgeon tells me that's good. I don't know why, but he WAS just working on the Dahli Lama or the Pope or Khloe Kardashian or whatever the other day, so I assume he knows his stuff.
I make sure the kids are set - we really do have incredible neighbors - and jump in the car. He was just rolling into the room. He is so foggy, so disoriented, but I fed him some fresh ravioli, and he was excited to find Shark Tank on TV - some things never change.
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