Good evening, dear friends,
Tonight’s update comes with a softer tone—not because the journey has become easy, but because today offered something deeply precious: reassurance. The kind that arrives not with dramatic announcements, but through small, steady signs that healing is happening, minute by minute, breath by breath.
Hunter’s day in the ICU unfolded calmly, marked by progress that might seem modest to an outsider, yet means everything to those walking beside him. In a place where every monitor beep carries weight and every decision matters, today brought several moments that reminded us why hope is never wasted.
This afternoon, the care team changed the dressing on Hunter’s right hand. It had become soiled with drainage—an expected but delicate situation. With patience and skill, his nurse carefully removed only the outer layers, leaving the inner dressing intact so the Restora Matrix powder could continue its quiet, powerful work on the wound bed. These are the details that matter here. Nothing rushed. Nothing overlooked.
And the result? Encouraging in every way.
His hand looked clean. Healthy. The fasciotomy incisions—once frightening in their severity—are healing beautifully. No signs of infection. No breakdown. No setbacks. Circulation remains strong, confirmed again and again with Doppler checks that continue to reassure the team. In the ICU, strong pulses are more than numbers—they’re promises.
Pain, that constant and unwelcome companion, has eased slightly today. Still present, still demanding respect, but far more manageable than yesterday. Hunter was able to rest more comfortably between checks, drifting into moments of real sleep rather than restless exhaustion. For anyone who has endured post-surgical recovery, you know how sacred those moments of rest truly are.
But amid all the clinical updates, something beautifully human happened today—something that lifted Hunter’s spirit in a way no medication ever could.
Nurse Katie gave him a full shampoo.
It might sound small. Ordinary, even. But in the ICU, it was extraordinary.
Using a blow-up water basin and a whole lot of hospital ingenuity, she gently washed his hair—something Hunter hasn’t been able to do properly for days. The relief on his face said everything. Clean hair. Warm water. A moment of dignity restored. A reminder that he is not just a patient, not just a chart or a room number—but a person who deserves comfort and care in every sense of the word.
That simple act changed the entire energy of the day. Hunter’s mood lifted. His shoulders relaxed. He smiled—a real one. Where there’s a will, there truly is a way.
As of tonight, Hunter remains in the ICU, room 4J-13, under close observation. The team continues hourly Doppler checks on both arms, carefully monitoring circulation, tissue viability, and pain control. Every hour matters. Every check is another layer of protection, another chance to catch even the smallest change early.
So far, everything is holding steady.
Perhaps most remarkable of all is Hunter himself.
Despite the pain. Despite the exhaustion. Despite the uncertainty that still hangs in the air—he remains grateful. Thankful for the nurses who treat him with such kindness. Thankful for the doctors watching every detail. Thankful for the visitors who show up, sit quietly, hold his hand, and remind him he is not alone.
And yes—he’s still cracking jokes.
Small ones. Gentle ones. The kind that say, “I’m still here. I’m still me.” His resilience continues to amaze everyone around him. Strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it whispers, smiles, and survives another hour.
Today’s victories were not loud. They didn’t come with applause or dramatic headlines. But they mattered deeply: clean dressings, healing incisions, controlled pain, and a fresh head of hair. These moments exist because of the incredible care team—and because of the love, prayers, messages, and support surrounding Hunter from near and far.
Every kind word sent his way matters. Every prayer carries weight. Every thought shared becomes part of the strength holding him up when his own feels thin.
We’ll share another update tomorrow after morning rounds and any new orthopedic or vascular notes. For now, we rest in the quiet comfort of knowing that today was a good day—one built on patience, precision, and compassion.
Hunter asked us to say thank you.
He’s hurting. He’s tired. But he’s still here. Still fighting. Still grateful for every single one of you.
Rest well tonight, brother.
We love you. We’re not going anywhere—every check, every breath, every hope.
Goodnight, Hunter. ❤️🙏