Listening to his shallow breathing interspersed with coughing fits. We meet with the team at Stanford this afternoon to find out if this second attempt at the transplant is a go.
He's in pretty bad shape. If they say it's a no-go, there's a very real possibility I'll need a bed in their psych ward. And we'll be camping out on somebody's oncology floor until he gets some mother fucking chemo.
Pom poms locked and loaded.