One more night down. I am in a spiral of projecting, with childlike inaccuracy, how I felt to be silent and restrained in an ICU 30 years ago. It is not terribly productive to consider the circumstances to be the same.

My return flight home is booked this morning, so instead of sitting here vibrating nervously inside and thinking silly warped thoughts of loneliness and panic, I am going to take the time to go home (Toronto) and get some work, home and life items sorted out. I will come back in a week for an earlier extended Christmas stay, when I can be of actual help when he is out of the ICU and back on the ward and then home.

Having also originally only packed a back pack with a few items, thinking the stay would likely be a few days, I am devastatingly sporting a sort of homeless chic that is starting to be all homeless and no chic. Time to regroup.

I spent some time with Dad this morning and he was stable and resting. It must be mind numbingly frustrating for him to not be able to communicate at all and this more than anything is wearing on us the most.

I board my flight soon and promise to continue to update everyone as I plan to stay in constant contact.

Jim, you are strong and triple so to what you can even fathom. You can do this. You will be back home again, excessively fawning over your orchids and lolling around in your pool and watching wood burn in the fire-pit and sleeping in your bed and cooking for your friends and creating ridiculous machines in your workshop and driving your steam engine and growling at your grand children and yelling for Kareen for no reason and firing all of those god dam cannons.

Fight.