Friday started with Pablo waking me up and saying he had to go number two. Big news. The kind of Fourth of July fireworks that'll get us a one-way ticket outta here. It was a false alarm, but good news anyway. We were headed in the right direction.
Flash forward to 10:30 p.m. Friday. Pablo had just fallen asleep. I smelled the other kind of big news the docs want to know about after surgery. Yes, like brother Shinta Cho said: Everybody Farts. You know the cliche: to the surgeons, the first sign of recovery in a patient is a few cheek-slappers flyin' out from under the sheets.
Dr. Mary Austin, Dr. Stein's fellow, came in this morning. She says Pablo looks great, the incision looks great, and if he can have an intestino circolazione, we're outta here this afternoon. Man, we've never prayed for poop before. But today's the day we startin. Dr. Austin is who broke the cancer news to us down in the ER in the early morning hours of 18 May. We love seeing her. She is sharp, Southern (from Nashville I believe), sweet–and a diehard cyclist! Pablo was asleep
Moving on...
You know, Michael Stipe's not the only skinny bald guy who gets to say Everybody Hurts. For the past two days, Pablo's version of that song has been 'Every Bump Hurts.' This popped into my head yesterday afternoon. As we got Pablo up and out of bed for a couple walks and a couple mean rounds of Uno, he constantly screamed 'my bump huuuuuurts!'It definitely does. For a kid who's never felt any major pain in his life, and who can take a pretty serious fall and get up and keep running, a gash in the abdomen is a serious blow.
As the day wore on, Pablo was maneuvering with more agility. He hasn't gotten out of bed this morning. That's the next goal.
Jo Ann's here, and I'm gonna run home for a shower.
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