Only I won’t be making any deals. I know things don’t work that way. Yeah, there’s maybe four of you who will get that joke.

This week will be big. At least assuming that the insurance company stops fouling up the infomation chain and my wife’s surgical procedure gets approved. Apparently when you put humans into an equation and there’s several chains of information running through them all, there’s a chance that mistakes will get made. Only these mistakes can have some serious fallout.

Been on pins and needles for the last five days over this, but it looks like the insurance approval is just a hiccup. Find out tomorrow. Which is good, because surgery is on Friday. And not simply surgery, but potentially life-altering surgery, at least in terms of symptom relief. I’m not going to give out too many more details. If you’re reading this, then you probably already know the nature of the operation. I will say that it’s actual brain surgery, but about as risk-limited in nature as that endeavor can be.

But I know how things go. Nothing is without risk, even though everyone involved does their best to minimize it. So I’m going to be holding my breath until she comes out of surgery early Thursday afternoon. Sorry if I’m edgy, I hope you understand. And if anyone out there wants to send out positive thoughts/good vibes/the force/manipulation of the simulation/non-sequential transactions with the Basilisk, I’m all for it. I will accept any and all of them, as will she.

Like anything else in this life, this isn’t a race with a finish line, but this time around there are some definite hurdles to clear. The biggest one is Thursday. There’s another two weeks after. Then another two weeks or so after that when we begin to see if the operation will actually pay off in terms of improvement of quality of life. Which is to say, how much of her life she gets back. She’s fought to keep as much as she can, but her condition is variable from hour to hour (and balancing the medicine makes it worse.) Yes, she’s still working, which requires an effort that I can only characterize as “super-human.” But when the symptoms are bad, everything’s bad. Hence surgery, of a nature that one doesn’t just undertake on a whim.

But let’s us clear the first bar before we worry about the second.

In the meantime, I’ll probably be going quiet on most public outlets, perhaps interrupted only by more-cryptic-than-usual pictures from the field. Everything else has been sitting by the wayside. No work on ABYSSAL, which kinda stings (but it needed a little more time to simmer and loosen up). Intrapanel basically shut down (and honestly I flip-flop on whether or not I should even continue it.) The outside world is a vortex of flaming aircraft parts with no discernible eye to the hurricane, so perhaps I should stop watching it for awhile. Plenty to do on the inside.

This Saturday, my 49th birthday, I hope to be driving my wife home from the hospital with the best possible outcome awaiting us. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

Practice a little more kindness (but suffer not fools gladly or otherwise) while I’m away. Maybe it’ll be catching.

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