RIP esophagus

I'm ecstatic to report that Pdaddy's surgery was a success. If by success you mean he's now missing a vital organ.

Some of you have wondered how someone lives with an esophagus. (It's a question I asked myself when I first found out my dad had esophageal cancer, shortly after, "No, dad!" and, "I will beat you with a wrench, cancer!") Just call it God's Gastric Bypass, because it's a modified version of the surgery made popular by B-list celebs like Carnie Wilson and Al Roker. Basically, they pull up your stomach and attach it to what's left of the esophagus. That makes your stomach smaller and your faux esophagus not as good at things like eating spicy foods and vomiting, but it's a small price to pay in exchange for your life ... though I do know my dad loves him some hot sauce.

And I so know that if Pdaddy was awake and alert right now, he would school us all on the risky procedure using intricate vocabulary and a few tart jokes. But he's still coming out of anesthesia so you'll have to settle for me. And recent polls suggest I'm slightly more accurate than Wikipedia, except when discussing Arctic animals. (Never been my strong suit.)

Anyway, I really appreciate the prayers and fasting and general love that I've felt from my fellow bloggees this entire year. I found out my dad had a horrible form of cancer a mere six weeks after Baby Zee died. It was like getting punched in the stomach - one still healing from a C-section. So things have been rough, to say the least.

But I have never lost my hope or faith, though I'll be darned if the devil didn't try to beat both of them out of me. So thanks to all of you for keeping me strong. It truly takes a village to get out of bed sometimes.

Now, where's that wrench?


p.s. You can keep praying for Pdaddy. The hard part has just begun.