I got your information right here

We're still here, at the swanky metropolitan skyrise known as Children's Mercy. You probably want to know how my son is doing. I tell you, I'd love to know, myself. Sometimes having a nonverbal kid is nice, like when you're on a drive and it's nice and quiet, he's just looking out the window. Other times, lots of times, it stinks. All we know is that he hurts. A lot. Somewhere. Probably his stomach, since he has not wanted to sit up for 2 weeks now. Sometime today or tomorrow they'll do an endoscopy and colonscopy to try to gather more information about the ouchies in his guts. Or if you'd rather, inflammation in his bowel and thickening of the colon. Like I said, ouchies in his guts. So, no new information for you today. He seems about the same as he did when we took him to the ER a week ago last Friday. 

Since I don't have the info you and I actually need, I'll just tell you other things. First I'll give you the hospital fashion report. I wore my favorite jeans last Monday. Every evening I change into pj pants, but besides that I wore those jeans continuously for 6 straight days. I think the nurses were impressed. I took them home and washed them and then accidentally wore skinny jeans back up, which is annoying because I needed my curvy jeans, if you catch my drift. So now I'm rocking skinnies with running shoes, which makes me Steve Jobs. This has been your Hospital Fashion Report.

Now the Hospital Eating Report: I am eating all the things. I usually try to eat before the doctors come around at 9 something, because my kid is not allowed to eat and I would look like a total jerk chowing on french toast sticks while he lays there with his stein of Gatorade, not to mention the slurping and chomping while trying to say things like ventriculoperitoneal. I was slipping away to eat 3 times a day, but he has started crying when I leave the room, which is like a Hallmark Movie to the gut, so now I eat when he's asleep. All the things. Luckily we have a motorized lift in this room, if I happen to gain 500 pounds and need assistance getting from my feet to my Hoveround.

Everybody asks how I'm doing. It's a good question, you guys are full of questions today. I am okay. I'm doing what I always do, which is just doing. I have a life plan of setting aside a couple weeks when I'm 70 to cry and complain loudly. Right now, I feel emotionally pretty level until it gets really quiet and I miss my house and my family and normalcy.

I see the light at the end of the tunnel here with these scopes pending, like we are close to a problem and therefore a solution. Until we actually reach the light, though, I'll be over here, in these jeans, eating all the things.