He is alive and awake.

Through every defiance of all medical logic; Jim woke up out of a nine-hour spate of unconsciousness and asked “What happened?” His blood pressure rose, by itself, back from a mortuary-ready human low, to a near normal number. His vitals and blood oxygen levels stabilized on their own after having been assisted with machines for better part of the last five weeks.

The doctors, all of the doctors, are simply flabbergasted. Nothing from this point on has been observed before, and we are in totally unchartered territory; they really have no idea what to expect next. Apparently after regaining consciousness he was able to move his left foot on command – something he has not been able to do since the second surgery and his full paralysis – they quite simply have never seen any case like Jim before. Which I can only attribute to the fact that nobody has ever met a man quite like my dad before. He is one unusual bastard.

I plan to call the Guinness Book of Records today to register us all as a global group of people simultaneously experiencing every single emotion known to humanity in a 24hr time frame. I call dibs on the ‘emotions’ of tear production and drinking Port.

The words on the other end of this mornings 5am phone were genuinely not the ones I expected. Kareen is ecstatic and almost delirious as she feels that our miracle is finally en route. Her faith is an unending faucet of hope and I have put my cautious optimism and secular practicality deep into my back pocket and cling onto hers. (Kidding I don’t have a back pocket, I am wearing PJ’s and might never get out of bed ever again.)