"You can tell I'm stoned."

Yes you with the morphine drip, I can. So my mom's one less kidney and tumor free as of Wednesday afternoon. She sailed through the procedure, at least for a gal with her rusty ticker, and resting comfortably as I write this at St. Francis Hospital in Peoria. I forgot my laptop but these kind folks are nice enough to have computers in waiting areas so families can update their blogs. I almost had a coronary when I saw her surgeon come to grab us about two hours before he said he was going to finish. He looked at me when he came into the room, and gestured for us to follow him into a conference room. Holy fuck ,I thought (sorry Catholic hospitial computer) this is not good. "She did excellent," he said, smiling a bit and I dare say a little surprised. He then went on to explain the surgery and what was going to happen for the next day. When you have a super-sick relative you learn that one day at a time, is a literal thing. It's kind of the only way to get through stuff. We thanked him and at first I reached out my hand. But then I hugged him, which caught him off guard. Hey, the dude didn't kill my mom, so he was going to get a freaking hug. It was the least I could do (well there's always more I could do.) Now I know a little what winning the lottery might feel like. It was a good day.