Sunday in the Slammer

It is very quiet.

Loren is snoozing in the recliner. I just dabbed my nose with a Kleenex, threw it away, and quickly applied hand sanitizer before touching the keyboard again. Thrilling stuff, no?

We had to get up early so as to go to the lab for a quick blood draw. Loren's level of Cyclosporine has been too high, so they released him from the hospital on Friday with the provision he have it checked on Sunday a.m., before the 8:00 meds. (takes it every 12 hours)

We got what we thought were the proper dirctions, went there and it was closed. I found this out after I dropped Loren off, parked the car after bumping the curb slightly with the tire, :-( and wasted two quarters in the meter. (found out parking is free on weekends) There was Loren, standing outside locked doors in his winter coat and nifty blue mask. Walked back to car, drove around a while, stopped, called transplant coordinator who was very helpful. Ended up going to the same lab we always go to here. All that should count for one walk, so far.

Thus, the need to come back and crash. Ate a little breakfast first: Loren had his Ensure. (you know, the stuff old people drink, not the scuba divers coming out of the surf, but the ones sitting on the beach, wearing sun block on their noses and looking tired and wrinkled.) I went down among the living and feasted on cereal, half banana and orange juice.

A quick look at the news lets me know that George Bush is still president, PLUS saver of Secret Service agents. I know some do not like his politics, but I think he is swell guy.

Baroque music serenades us from the computer speakers, as I sit here in winter clothes and felt slippers. There is a tranquil, old feeling about the morning. At any moment I expect to see antiquish yellow parchment come drifting down from the ceiling.

If Loren feels up to it, I may coax him down the hall to the day room to watch a movie later.

(yawn)

I'm thinking of contacting my friend, Akahbar......

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