They Call me a Space Cowboy . . ."

I was able to capture rare video footage of the elusive Buboman, aka Bobby Andrzejek, lounging in his unnatural habitat, Intermediate Care at the U of M hospital . . .

Another busy day, sessions with both PT and OT, a few doctor's teams in and out . . . I find it exhilarating, the progress Bob's made in just one short week after a 13 hour surgery, thought it's been one long week, with no end in sight, to him. Matter of perspective, I guess. . . From his, he's still so far from anywhere, still so dependent on the assistance of others, to adjust, move, transfer him to the edge of the bed to a chair, and back. Still on a very limited menu, but he has advanced to an all liquid diet now, which includes oatmeal, all juices (I jumped on that opportunity this morn, and juiced an apple, pear, kiwi concoction for him, with a handful of spinach and Romaine lettuce thrown in for good measure!), also allowed thicker soups (not chunky, just thicker). When I arrived this a..m., he told me that his nurses turned him over to his side, so they could change the dressing on his back; they put a pillow between his legs as they did their job and he said, for the first time in he didn't know how long, he lay there, completely, utterly, without pain, heaven, he said . . . also told me that he slept for a solid 4-5 hours straight, through the night. . . may not seem like a big deal, peeps, but for someone who's lived with debilitating, chronic pain for nearly a year, with sleep a fleeting concept, this is a big-ass deal. . . .

That was earlier today. I'm now home, 11 p.m . or so, and as I type, I'm in the process of creating a beautifully fragrant veggie stock, which I will add to a tasty beet soup (okay, so I can't say fer sher if it's tasty, as I've not made it before, but how can you go wrong with beets, onion, garlic?), and a creamy broccoli soup—broccoli simmered in veggie stock, then pureed with cannellini beans, cheddar cheese, spices . . ..to be created shortly . . . and yes, that will be brought to Bob for lunch tomorrow. . . to hell with the crap that they pass off as "food" in the hospital. At best, an insult, at worst, horrific, to patients . . . a dear friend of mine told me about organic substitutes for Ensure and Powerade, no artificial nothing, that they could be found at the local co-op . . . with that tip, I buzzed up to the co-op in Hudson before heading in to the U, and picked up a few "samples" of each, to try them out on Bob. Verdict was, he liked them just fine, so from here on out, Ensure will be replaced with Orgain, (developed by a physician/cancer survivor. . . worth the few minutes to check out the website); Powerade will be booted out by coconut water, which is an amazing substance in many ways, shapes and forms. contains all the body's natural electrolytes, in natural form, vs' "fortified" Gatorade, Powerade, or other artificial imitations . . . should be available at your local co-op. . .

So . . . the goal is to increase Bob's PT and OT to twice a day over the course of the weekend and into next week. He's astounding everyone, with his strength and determination; he looks so weak and frail but is now able to push himself up in his bed, if he needs to reposition himself and can push off the side of the bed to the walker (with lots of supervision by two PT's at his side), then, with PT assistance, pivot on his left foot till he turns himself nearly a full 180 degrees to the chair next to the bed. Three days ago, he had to call for nurses to slide him back up into bed. Now, don't get me wrong—this whole process takes an incredible amount of effort and energy from him, and he's exhausted by the time he reaches the chair, but it's breathtaking to witness . . . the will of the human spirit, in action . . .

Bob's tending doctors have been in contact his primary team and with cardiology, and the the buzz is already about transferring him to an acute therapy unit from the hospital, which is more intense therapy—he has to be able to endure at least three hours of therapy a day—instead of a subacute unit (which was like the TCU he was in back in June, basic nursing home-level care). We might be in Arizona in January, golfing, if things keep progressing as they are!

I was in Bob's room today, when PT came in to transfer him to the chair. As painful as it was for him to execute the task, I got chills, watching him, I can't even begin to explain . . . Any pain he's feeling isn't from his hip, or down his leg, as has been for months on end; it's from the surgery site, the areas where he was diced and spliced . . .

But, at this point, please don't categorize this as a "miracle." There's nothing miraculous about this. It's plain and simple , life. Bob is a fighter, his surgeons are astoundingly gifted, and right now, time is on our side. To call this a miracle minimizes the shit, the pure and utter shit Bob has been drug through (and my gut tells me, will continue to be drug through) . . . and is incredibly offensive to those who have lost love ones in battles of their own . . . were they not worthy of a miracle? Who decides who is "worthy" of a miracle? I watched my dad, live 15+ years with a chronic illness, never making changes in his life to improve the quality of his life. . . he had more "second chances" than anyone really has a right to . . . loved my dad dearly, but were his "chances" a miracle? I think not. . . Just life . . .