One more day to fight. They were able to remove the breathing tube yesterday and have installed a temporary tracheostomy apparatus and a feeding tube as he simply can’t sustain on IV alone. Dr. M has observed some additional feeling lower down his left arm but it is just too stiflingly early to know if more will return to his legs and hand.

My dad and I have the same feet and the same toes, that upon initial observation can look very much like fingers….finger-toes if you will. All potential queries of parental lineage are easily thwarted by simply looking at our feet; Trudy was lucky, hers are not quite as flipper like, though she is still very much on the toe-finger family train with us.

I can’t imagine him not being able to use his finger-toes anymore. I can’t imagine that he will not dance – he can cut the rug like he invented it – and really his version of dancing does look like something he did in fact invent. We all know that we can’t think like that, but these thoughts creep in like smoke and ugly smells.

He is much more comfortable now that the breathing tube was removed and can at least mouth words in whispered communication instead of being totally mute. Apparently he mouthed “fuck off” to someone and I can honestly say I have not felt happier in days when I heard that. Jim being unable to speak was a hell like no other, he is simply too amazing… an asshole, but our amazing asshole.

Dad, fight until you can’t. We love you so much. You have all corners of the world reverberating in well wishes and prayers for you. The glow is almost palpable.

You can do this.