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Miles is downright jovial this morning.  Maybe it's because he shed his last IV, or maybe the senna is kicking in.  Either way, he's chatty and spright.  So, let's talk positives.

This morning he donned the right leg early, grabbed his teal-green Nike top, and killed a bowl of raisin-less raisin bran all before the residents stopped in.  He's pleased with the color of his chest drainage (something we all aspire to), and his surgeon says the lymphatic leak appears to be slowing.

We are off to a good start, so I let him play COD, as long he visualizes enemy soldiers as cancer cells.  His daily chest x-ray is coming up, and then a long jaunt is in order.  Later today, the surgical team will instill a third daily dose of TPA (a clot breaker-upper) into is chest cavity to loosen up pockets of remaining gunk and encourage optimal drainage.  If we are lucky, Monday could be the day home.

Yesterday, Miles' tenth floor corner room became boyville, with visits from Stewie, Aidan, Charlie, and Michael.  Good times.  The night before, Lizzie and Steph brought chicken tenders, and Sarah delivered saltwater taffy and gummy lobsters.  AJ and Stacey stopped in with cool soccer deco on Wednesday, and Grandpa Irwin met up with Uncle Dave at Miles' bedside.  Thanks to the Novaks for the retro football hand-held--Miles actually digs the red dashes.

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