My dad.

After a brief scare yesterday, my father is doing well. When the doctor went in to replace some parts of the DBS he found a huge infection on the right side of my father's brain. He had to remove the whole apparatus and start him on anti-biotics. He had an infectious disease doctor come take a look at him, and the prognosis was good. They're keeping him in the hospital at least until Friday for observation and medicating. After a few months, when the infection is completely cleared up, he can have the DBS put back in. I did some research and it said that 3 to 4 percent of patients experience infection, and it's usually treatable. My poor father. Just when we think something is working well, and he's doing a million times better, they throw this at us. I went to visit him at Mt. Sinai last night. He was in good spirits, cracking jokes, being the strongest man alive, like usual. He was psyched that he could eat oreo cookies and was watching the World Poker Tour when I left. His roommate is really nice. He's personal friends with Billy Graham (hopefully he wasn't preaching to my father all night!), who also has Parkinsons, so he was very sympathetic and kind while all 5 of us invaded his room until they kicked us out. I wish he wasn't all the way in the city. I wish I didn't have to work. I wish I was a neurologist. I wish I didn't feel so helpless.