He's starting to act more like himself, that boy of mine. Still groggy and tired (wouldn't you be if you'd just had brain surgery?) but showing signs of the Will I know and adore. Singing. Laughing. Active.
He got the royal treatment this morning -- two neurosurgeons and two PAs made the rounds to see him. The CT scans look good -- improved even from the prior three or four or however many he's had over the past six days. I've lost count.
He's there overnight again -- which is fine. Professional eyes can watch him while I try to close mine in search of rest.
I'm slowly breathing out. Expunging my anxiety with the adrenaline on which I've been running for days.
That's a good thing.