sigh

Daddy is communicating by spelling words, as in "May I have some o-a-t-m-e-a-l p-l-e-a-s-e?" or "Shall we go o-u-t for p-a-n-c-a-k-e-s?" He's also making vigorous sign, though he's no ALS wizard and frequently becomes frustrated when his longsuffering wife does not understand.

Little Billy is all alone at the vet's office, still attached to fluids. He has not thrown up or pooped anything painful and horrid all day. Vet told me he "is not going to die, I'm actually feeling good about his progress." Then he gave me a weird look and said "think positive," but when it's raining fucking toads, who knows what's next? He probably didn't have a grandmother who would shriek "quit laughing, something bad will happen!" Easy for him to think positive.

I am so tired I think I may implode, having had six hours of sleep in the last 72 hours. Regardless, I am going out to my favorite chair and I am going to watch one of the loves of my life, Jon Stewart, even if I have to prop the eyelids up with toothpicks.

I am so grateful for your kindness expressed here in thoughts and prayers and commiseration. Amazing to get that from this flat glass and metal thing that sits on my desk. Hugs and nighty night to all of you.