They had just started watching a television show, so after a couple of sweet hugs, they were ready to return to the TV. I was ready to pour out my heart to them and grab on forever without letting them go. Since that would be weird, we let go, made our way to another room, and waited for the show to end before we began our reunion. I'm still tired and worse for wear after the various procedures, but I have gotten in some play time with both of them (re)reading the genius Diary of a Wimpy Kid with B., and tickling and singing to T., which is perhaps her favorite combination save peanut butter and jelly. Bizarrely, I've also felt compelled to add some "chest tube" jokes to our tickling -- I make a loud drilling sound, attack her ribs, and much hilarity ensues. She isn't fooled, however. "They don't use a drill, Daddy! They use medical stuff!
My discharge instructions from the hospital amounted to basically nothing, so I have to figure out when I can peel off the masses of dressings around my wound and actually take a real shower. But despite carrying a whiff of the bus station about me, I'm in pretty good shape. The chest is sore, but healing rapidly. My strength is lousy, but being up and around a little bit seems to be building it back. I walked up three stairs -- not flights, three stairs -- at the hospital and my quadriceps felt blown to tatters, but maneuvering around the stairs here at home is rapidly getting easier. My dad, who has been here taking care of the kids, has just a little time left here, so I'm trying to enjoy that without getting sad about his impending absence.