Today when I arrived at the hospital (after inching my way through delayed rush hour and morning traffic), I was pleased as punch to see The Boy sitting up in bed and playing with his puzzle. Musical Daddy reported that while The Boy did throw up last night after his pain medication, he hadn't had pain medication in 12 hours. And he had none while I was there. He looked wonderful.
He still hasn't had much to drink and hadn't eaten anything but Pez. He ate fruit ice, about an ounce, for lunch. The surgeon came in to see The Boy and talk a bit about our wonderful news. Thing is, he said to us before the surgery that he never likes to guess what spots or growths or tumors are when he operates. But then he gave us the description of what he found, and added that he had used the intrasurgical ultrasound (not sure if that's what it is called) during the procedure and everything was clear.
The Boy had been asking me for a cheese sandwich today. He wasn't on food yet, just clears, so of course I offered him fruit ice instead, which was fine for him. While the surgeon was talking to us, I was getting ready to leave (shift switch, you know...) and I grabbed a cookie. David said that he wanted one ("want one"), and I asked the surgeon, who said that it was fine. Hopefully, eating the cookie means one more step in the direction of home. He said that possibly we'd have him home tomorrow.
Scar tissue. Adhesions. The results that we got are the types of results that we had hoped for, but that doesn't even describe it. We got the answer that people look for when they are expecting bad news and they KNOW that they're getting bad news, but they make up this Hail-Mary long-shot best-case scenario that has very little chance of coming true. We got that. Last play, the clock runs out after the snap, and the QB throws 30 yards for the touchdown.
Hey, I'll say it:
We got our Michigan State second.