Posted on | October 29, 2012 | 12 Comments
Rainy day in VA. My office is closed, and my wife’s incessant stream of telcons, like hurricane Sandra, is a major distraction, since I’m mostly looking after the World’s Youngest Blogger.
Yesterday, as the sky assumed a claustrophobic, slate grey cast, and the winds were picking up, I did a bit of shopping:
@danriehl Headed your way with a half rack of diet coke
— Chris Smith (@smitty_one_each) October 28, 2012
I’m actually able to navigate INOVA Fairfax readily, so I made it to Dan’t room by about 1530. Dan had a guest, an old friend, who chuckled at the box of Diet Cokes on my shoulder.
Dan was looking quite a bit better, feeling strong enough to rule out any further photo ops. This also extends the life of the camera optic. Dan allowed that, according to the doctor, his numbers continue to improve. Those that know Dan understand that he’s rather private about personal matters and medical details. Also, I’m neither a journalist, nor one to pry. So we just chatted about nothing, not even the presidential race. The point was to bolster his spirits, and get his mind off of being caged in the hospital for a while.
Today’s cruddy weather precludes another visit. We are far enough south that it’s mostly a colossal downpour here, and shouldn’t threaten the safety of anyone in a hospital.
— Chris Smith (@smitty_one_each) October 29, 2012
So, the good news is that Dan is on the mend. Fret not, Conor Friedersdorf: your floggings will resume presently. And hit Dan Riehl’s tip jar. I’d estimate Dan’s dropping about a mortgage payment a day for that array of tubes he’s sporting.