Uh oh. The Drama Begins at the Not-OK Corral

He's home, and, as his daughter put it, he looked better 5 minutes after surgery than he looks right now.

We are beside ourselves. "We" meaning Emma and I. JP will soon be beside himself when he gets back home and sees this.

Apparently, Mister I Will Trick The Medical Staff By Telling Little White Lies About How Great I Feel said whatever it took to get released.

And now he is, seriously, BRIGHT yellow--even his FEET are yellow--in rather large pain, has a fever of 99.8 (just .7 more degrees and we have to call Someone But Bill Forgot Who per his release papers--100.5 is the cutoff point for serious danger) AND a distended abdomen, AND can't walk without almost fainting AND can't eat AND isn't drinking AND doesn't have the correct pain meds because they sent him home with just a piece of paper prescription at 7:30 pm when the pharmacies are closed (we actually have a good substitute, left over from chemo, so we're okay with the meds), AND he just fell into his bed and conked out with complete and utter exhaustion.

Note to neighbors: If you hear sirens right about the middle of the night, it will be young William on his way back to Oz, where he obviously shouldn't have clicked the little red sparkly shoes QUITE so fast.

We don't know whether to hover over him and set our alarms for every 3 hours to check him, or GROUND him or take away his Kindle or SOMETHING because he was VERY naughty and should NOT have gotten himself released!

I'll tell you this: I am SOOOOOOOOOO glad beyond all description that there are THREE OF us here right now to collaborate on what we should do with this unbelievable scenario.

I will post again as soon as we see progress in any direction. I just hope I'm not posting from Wake Forest Medical Center at 3 am.

Oh.

Lord.

Have.

Mercy.