five days

The reconstructive surgeon couldn't make it back to see us today. The resident says he's in surgery. A surgery he can't talk about, but that we will certainly hear about on the news in a week. "It's big," he says. "Very big."

Right now everything big is in this room as far as I'm concerned.

There are four IV's dripping into him and another four taking things out.

Bed rest has been ordered for five days.

Days.

He can't sit still for five minutes - five days sounds impossible for him. At the same time, he doesn't look like he's ready to bolt down the hallway anytime soon. He does have a TV to keep him occupied and a little breathing apparatus, where he can practice inhaling. That should keep him busy until he hyperventilates and passes out.

We were treated a slideshow of the operation today - all the way down to the bone. We won't be sharing those pictures - you're welcome.

The sarcoma surgeon stopped in. Right now his lungs are clear and his leg is too, but if it comes back it is almost always the lungs that get hit, so they will scan him in three months and keep scanning, keep watching.

I think we will always be watching.
Always.

Thanks for your love and support. Since he's flat on his back for five days, he can't even read a book or an iPad, but I read to him, and he knows you love him.



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