Wednesday

It’s been an exhausting two weeks, but here we are - May 12. Surgery day.

For as much build up as it has, today will not give us many more answers. There will be a biopsy, consultations, radiology, oncology- as huge as an eight hour brain surgery is, it’s only the first step.

We woke up at 4 am, packed the car and headed to Rochester. He was whisked into pre-op pretty quickly and sent for a CT scan. We got him back for a few minutes - he was covered in guide dots, and they’d sharpied instructions on the right side of his head. At least 8 specialists came in to talk with us. Some of them had names like Brock and Alyx - which I guess means that children are now allowed to become anesthesiologists and neurosurgeons - either that or I’m old.

We snuggled together on his bed, and talked about the only truly positive outcome that could come from incurable but operable brain surgery - superpowers. We tried to think of the best possible case scenario - Kaia said the ability to read minds, I went with healing powers, and a Rico . . .the ability to always make sound financial decisions.

Ug.

He admitted that flying was a close second, but since he didn’t think that was likely, chose to stand by his original decision and argued so soundly that he even convinced K.

I’m holding firm to healing.

While we were there he got a text from a business associate he hadn’t heard from in a month or so. Of course he had to respond. Of course.

Just 90 minutes ago, Kaia and I kissed Rico goodbye and Bryttani wheeled him in to surgery. Kaia and I headed to breakfast, a quick look at the museum and Dr. Mayo’s lucky surgery, and then headed to the waiting room where hopefully we’ll catch a nap - but it’s hard. They told us we’d get the first text at the first incision. My phone just buzzed. As I’m writing this, they are literally holding everything I love about Rico in their hands. Their scalpels are next to that memory of us holding hands on Casey Key. They are probing the spot that remembers his kids names and birthdays. There is a saw - an actual saw, buzzing dangerously close to his recipe for Marry Me Chicken.

They aren’t working on a bone, or a leg, or a muscle this time - it is HIM everything that he is, everything we love is being adjusted and poked and bruised and maybe even cut away. But he is loved so completely by all of us, that we will spare whatever we need to, just to hang on to him.