Coming back to me

While I've been with Rich every day this week, he hasn't really been himself. Oxycodone will do that to you as will a belly full of staples. We haven't talked about the tumors. We haven't talked about chemotherapy. We haven't talked about the game plan really at all. We've talked about the color of his urine. We've talked about trying to eat. We've talked about how many laps he's walked. We've talked about his pain levels and his blood pressure and if his feet are cold or not.

And those are all necessary conversations to have. But I'm looking forward to having real conversations with him again, even if they're conversations about cancer. He's right next to me most of the day and yet I miss him.

But over the course of today, he's come back to me. He was picking up steam and able to talk and walk when I left around 6:30. He and Laura were about to do their laps. But then Laura started texting me about afibrillations and X-rays and moving to a new ward for extra monitoring. Since Ian was asleep already at Megan's (after barfing all over her, her sofa, her coffee table and most of the hall), I took the opportunity to go back to him.

And while we're in a new area of the hospital with a ton more monitors and nurses and doctors that all flew out of a clown car, I'm happy. Because as I raced back to the hospital and came into the hospital room where everything was packed up to move him, Rich looked at me and was all "Hey!"

Rich has said more words in the last three hours than he has all week. I wanted to tell Megan that he was doing better since I had just sprinted out of her house leaving my sick kid with her. So I told Rich, "make a face that looks happy and healthy so Megan won't worry."

The model patient