T.B. has transposition of the great vessels. He's 22, but looks 15. A little squirrely, Dr. L, calls him. No kidding. He just...seemed shifty. But we listened to the heart and even I found the PMI for once. And his thrill.
C.C. is two days s/p CABG, six days s/p AMI. Not to mention she's had oesophageal cancer, lung cancer, and GERD. Oh, and she's 54. This is her second heart attack. But she gives a wonder of a history. Maybe I'll tell it to you later, O Best Beloved.
Home. Dad needs me to take him to Dimension to get the car. Again. Can't say no, of course. Then it's home again, and off to fencing, where I get my ass kicked in foil by a 13-year-old kid named Raffi (been fencing 7 years), trounced 5-3 by Angel in a bout, and mutilated in dry sabre by John, who's big and strong and can parry me by simply not letting me move his blade. Gods, what fun I'm having.
Home. Finished the renal notes, thank havens. Now just 40-some pages of GIT to do tomorrow afternoon. And now to bed. Mom and I are going to go to Curves on Saturday morning, I think, and try it out. Rachel adores it, Mom might spot me some of the membership if I like it. Going to get in shape, godsdamnit.
And things are working out fine with Cyndie and the mortgage. Got word today that the second mortgage to cover the remaining 15% of the house was approved. Hallelu.
Sleep. Yes. *sleeps*