Dad had two doctors appointments yesterday and today, and we have been blessed with good news. Therefore, this post will include no filthy, angry language or wishes for the damnation of medical personnel, I promise.
One doctor approved the removal of his catheter (I will pause a moment while Husband grimaces customarily). The other doctor let him know that, if his blood work turns up staph-free, he will be able to be taken off the intravenous antibiotics around August 11, lose the pick line (again), and can go on oral antibiotics, probably for the rest of his life. Additionally, his physical therapy is progressing well, I think, seeing as he's only been there two weeks. His right leg is not coming back as strong as his left, so he has been fitted with a knee brace for support. He still has a lot of numbness and cannot walk unassisted, but it is definite progress from paralyzation just three weeks ago.
I honestly don't know what to expect for the future. And I also don't want to provide any conjecture. I don't want to be overly positive and say everything will be peachy keen and rainbows and puppies before we know it, because I'm terrified of whatever lurks around the next dark corner. We have been tricked before. I don't think anyone can know if he'll ever be able to walk around easily without a cane or walker or if he will be relegated to a wheelchair. I don't know how my parents are going to make it when he is released from the nursing home, because their house is not conducive to his physical needs. I hope that they do seriously pursue purchasing a new home soon, but I don't know who in the world would buy their current house. I just don't know. I can't know. And for someone that has control issues, not knowing leaves my stomach in constant knots, my head aching each morning, and keeps me awake at night. But it will work out. Somehow. Because it has to. Because it can't not work out.