I didn't mean to leave you all hanging. Here's the short version: Anne's doing great. She's been home for more than a week, and we're settling back into an "OK, so now I guess this is 'normal'" routine. 

But "normal" changes a little bit every day. Let's argue about the semantics of that last sentence later. Things are going well — Anne's mobility is increasing, and her energy is on the rise. However, physically and cognitively, she has a ways to go. Her brain's still a bit wonky, but again, improving a little bit every day.

How do I know that? I wake up as early as possible, and as she begins to stir, I shout a series of complex math questions at her, record her score, and divide that by the number of seconds it takes her to slap me. Please note these results may not stand up to academic peer review. 

Really, though, she's doing great. We're encouraging her to take it easy, which isn't easy. She has recommendations and a plan from both PT and OT doctors to help her mind and body mend — and again, the experts agree that she's likely to make a full recovery. The extended family remains a huge help in taking the kids out and about to give Anne some quiet time at home — and generally helpful in so many ways. 

Other than that, there isn't much to report. She'll start her IV immunotherapy next week. No doctor has described it as "fun," but they have said it likely won't be that bad. Please cross your fingers for us. The treatment will last six months. 

Looking back, Anne, I, and likely you, have asked at some point: "What just happened(!) and where did this all come from?" Medical science has a lot of answers that make sense. But the human psyche doesn't seem to be so easily satisfied.

Our lives are punctuated by grief and struggle and moments of victory. This was all of those things. And maybe the "why" isn't important. It happened, and I'm grateful for the time I got to spend with friends and family. Grateful for the flood of support from so many who care about Anne. Over time, our "village" has become spread out — across Colorado, the country, and even the globe. But through all this, Anne and I feel more connected to the people in our lives, and the bonds are stronger. While we all had our moments sitting alone late at night, looking at the ceiling and pleading for the worst not to happen, and the outcomes we hoped for to manifest, our village got smaller. Anne got better. And for that I am truly thankful.