I just got back from visiting Brother of Many Surgeries. (This is his Indian name now.)
He looks like a one track railroad from stern to down below where he wouldn't let me see. Let's just say they cut him as fer as they could cut.
The staples are starting to pull at his skin, the drain holes are pulling at his skin. He is very uncomfortable.
Plus he is having wild body temperature changes, one minute burning up, the next freezing.
Do you suppose they took so much out this time he is in menopause?
Nah.
I am being silly because I am tired of being afraid.
Afraid that this time, he might not make it.
But he did, and I hope fervently it is the last surgery he ever has to have. I hope he can live many years and be healthy, finally.
I am so confident I made a batch of spaghetti and took it to them for supper.
If my cookin' don't kill him, nothin' will.
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