Those three long hours turned into five. Eventually someone handed me a card with room #525 written on it and pointed me down a hall. I walked passed endless rooms. Northwestern averages 85 surgeries a day. When I found room #525 he was quiet, a little beaten up and he was officially bionic. He slept, drank some water and eventually passed their tests well enough that I was able to slowly drive him home to a house that friends had filled with food and kids who thought they had a night free from homework.
We put him in bed, made dinner plates and sat around him eating and talking.
It’s snowing out now and all is quiet.
I didn’t take one picture.