She’s able to keep down food (and her medicine).

Her calcium levels went coo-coo bananas and shot up to 12.something, which we hope is the work of her parathyroids (two get damaged in surgery and the other two went into shock because of all the pushin’ and pullin’ required to remove her ginormous thyroid).

There’s a decent chance that she’ll be OK and released tomorrow, but there’s also a solid chance that she’ll have to stay another night.

My concentration is in the toilet, I’m tired and I just want to be able to stroke my wife’s hair when she tosses and turns in her sleep. It isn’t that I fear for her health; I have total faith that she is getting solid care from the doctors and nurses there (though I have been witness to some jaw-dropping incompetence there, too – the second time I had to bring a nurse over to show them that no one had ever started my wife’s IV — including the person who set it up, “made sure it was going” and left — forever shattered my rosy view of the staff). But I have never seen her in pain like she was this morning. She was truly miserable. And the helplessness and fear that I went through (though far from close to Teresa’s) were phenomenally depressing. Or, they would have been if I actually liked her.

But I can still see her smile from when I left tonight (and not because I left tonight, Shecky) and I just know that my little trooper will see this obstacle through, just as she has every other shitty roadblock life has thrown her way. She’ll come out of the experience stronger, tougher and with that adorable smile.

OK. I need (to try to) sleep.

Much love, peeps (from me and the sickie-pants).