We visited Dad in ICU yesterday morning, and, other than hearing a fanciful tale about him taking a helicopter ride that AM from New York to “somewhere in Missouri” (and being upset because he didn’t get a window seat), we found him rather lucid and coherent. Dad has always had very vivid dreams, and given all the meds he’s on it’s not surprising that there’s a little leakage between dream and reality.

Physically he continues to improve, and all vital signs are good. Physical therapists visit several times a day to work with him, and with help he’s moved out of the bed into a chair. The therapist does the work with him in the chair. That’s mostly the therapist moving his limbs a bit, but Dad’s increasingly doing some of the work. Not surprisingly this leaves him exhausted and they have to (literally) hoist him back into bed where he typically falls fast asleep. Getting stronger daily, though.

Before we started our Thanksgiving Day feast here around 4 PM, we received a call from Dad’s nurse at OHSU. Turns out that he may have shingles—they’ll need a dermatological consult to be sure—and that Mom, who is immuno-compromised thanks to a liver transplant some 18 years ago, is barred from visiting until further notice. According to the nurse, either Bret or I could have been exposed to shingles from being in close proximity to him this morning, but the nurse thought this unlikely. We will, however, need to cover up a bit when we visit. Should it be shingles, it would not set back his recovery any, but they will keep him in ICU a bit longer as a quarantine measure. (In an unrelated note, I’m coming down with my first cold of the season and will likely be unable to visit for a while.)

Regardless of all the above, ye olde Clan Davison had a great Thanksgiving get-together. We held it at our place for the first time, and there was more than a little pressure on Erin, head cook in our household, to insure everything turned out right for the meal. Well, let me just say that everything turned out better than all right. Delicious! And I even managed to carve up the turkey without making a fool of myself or losing a digit.

But the meal was only one part of our thoroughly enjoyable, rather raucous affair. Jonah insisted on plenty of play time with Uncle Bret who happily obliged. Elisha smiled her wonderful smiles and made her happy howler monkey screeches. Bret, who also celebrated a birthday, let Jonah help blow out candles and open presents. (More accurately though, it was Jonah who let Bret help.)

In all, it was a lovely, laugh-filled event, and given the challenges of recent months, we could hardly ask for more except to say that I hope you and yours enjoyed a similarly wonderful Thanksgiving Day experience.