Raymond Massey is not the only one who's left the building

At last, we have escaped the halls of Harborview. For awhile anyway, and that is good. Yesterday afternoon, we got the remarkable report that John's numbers on his blood-thinning progress had taken a sudden dramatic dip. (In this case, a dip's a good thing, going from a 56 to a 45 in one day, after inching downward slowly for days.) At the same time, the other number (the INR, for International Ratio) went to a steady 2 -- meaning John B's blood is twice as thin (half as thick??) as yours, more or less. That number turned the key to unlock the padlock on the cell door.
Now we scurry off to his regular doc (Thursday) to establish a regimen for monitoring and adjusting the Coumadin (finally, I have the right spelling) to keep his blood, if not his waistline, nice and skinny. The clots are likely still lurking in the legs and lower abdomen, as his swelling is still obvious -- though much reduced. He still walks a lot like a penguin and looks a little like Jesus Christ crucified, but so what? He'll regain his svelt profile, dashing swagger and baby-blue-eyed wink soon enough. In the meantime, MJ and I have supplied him with three attractive surgical caps -- one with flames to match his truck, one with appropriate pics of skulls and pirates, one with cowboys -- which he can show off at will.
I got John in the shower late yesterday, and while he was so happy about that, it knocked him for a pretty good loop. Mark Matassa was surely right about how little strength you have after something like this. But each day is a little better. We'll just aim to keep it that way.
And to stay the hell away from the likes of Raymond Massey and other scoundrels of that sort.
We think our next few days here will be filled with the small businesses of establishing rehab routines, resting and reconnecting with the rest of life. I'm re-entering work via my laptop from home, thanks to the continued help of my mag colleagues (putting out two issues this week, even!). John has hundreds of e-mails he'll start plowing through, and then there's everything else.
More patience called for. Weirdly, the better things start to look, the less patient I've become. Perhaps that's always how it is. Up from terror and paralysis to worry and wonder and on to impatience and your usual set of highs and lows.
Right now, the chief feeling is of gladness, just to be here in familiar surroundings and doing the ordinary things. Blessed be the ordinary.
And blessed be all of you. Truly, the words are woefully inadequate for what we feel.
KT
(Sam and George, the orchid is downright gorgeous. It's on the family-room table with Naomi's bouquet and the Yoxalls' from Calif......Tobi, the cookies are being gobbled up fast. Yum.)