The journey of a thousand miles . . . .

. . . . is upon us.



The surgery was completed yesterday evening, finally. There were multiple delays, and frustrating days, and close calls. We were all gathered in the waiting room, ready for hours and hours of tense waiting. Imagine our surprise when the surgeon came out 3 hours early.



It wasn't the worst news, but it wasn't the best, either. He had performed 4 bypasses, not 6, and had cancelled the aortic valve replacement once he got into the operation.



It's funny how some people are glass half-full people. My mother is one. Despite the grave look on the surgeon's face, she was elated that the surgery was over quickly, and was less complicated than we had originally anticipated. She took this as good news. The surgeon was carefully explaining to us that he had decided against the valve replacement in mid-operation because, frankly, there was a good chance that my dad wouldn't have survived it. Upon hearing this, my mother, moments after the surgeon left us, was on the phone with my aunt, telling her that Daddy was in recovery and really hadn't needed the replacement, after all.



My brother drove her home to rest, and my sister and I stayed on, peeking in on my dad. Hours after we expected him to regain consciousness, the nurses were still feverishly working to stabilize him.



And if you will pardon me now, I think I have a half-empty glass of soda somewhere around here to finish off.