No promises

Colleen and Dixie say the doctor alluded to two glimmers of good news: 1) You are starting to exhale less crap out of your lungs, which hopefully means time on the "Agitator 4000" is coming to an end, and 2) You may not need skin grafts.

These are not official prognoses. These are guarded musings.

But we'll take 'em.

Forrest came home today. Asia and I watched him walk into the waiting area from customs, and he just looked so great. Big smile. Cool hat (hope he finds that -- it sort of disappeared). He was Mr. Continental, Photographer At Large. He took the news in the best possible way you could expect. He was a champ. Tore up, but standing up. We waited at Chaise's parents with Trish and Lydia until your next visiting hour, then headed over. It was hard on Forrest, but he did well. He happened to see you at a time of complete and total sedation, so you didn't much move at all. Which really disturbed him. That hadn't happened yet. Funny, Dad. With your kids, you're damned if you move, damned if you don't!

But seriously, I think you're finally sleeping. I feel as if you're actually getting rest these last couple of times I've seen you. As if your consciousness has finally said, "Okay. I trust these people now. I'm tired. You have the helm, I going to bed." And I think that has to be doing your body some good.

Tonight, Lee, Colleen, Jeff, Dixie, Byron, Asia, Forrest and I all gathered at Dixie's to get the download on progress with the house. Then we went to grab a bite and a drink. Forrest's girlfriend joined us. Once again this week, we thought, "Well, crap. He'll be pissed he missed this, too!"