Just kidding. Too hot for that anyway (93 degrees at 8pm). But she's got a lot of energy. Zoë and I motored around the hospital hallways with her tonight. She's tethered to an IV stand, but it doesn't slow her down a whole lot. She slings it into the bathroom, shoved it aside to retrieve a dropped pen, and is adept at maneuvering it around the tight space between her bed, the wheeled table-thingy that swings over the bed, and the sofa-bed against the wall.
My moment of Zen: when we arrived, Peg was sitting in the chair, eating dinner, with the IV cart coincidentally parked in front of her as if she were watching a TV show instead of a glowing digital readout.
I asked if she'd watched any TV (the only show we watch at home is The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, about twice a week). She said she tried out the remote and got stuck on a weird hospital channel with nonstop video of a fish tank with horribly bland "uplifting" music, which she imagined must be one of the punishments inflicted in hell. Have you ever seen Kenny G and Satan in the same room? Think about it.
Dr. "B," her oncologist, is on call this weekend, so if Peg needs anything, her own doc will be there. Big fan of Dr. Bobolis.
Tomorrow and Sunday Zoë will be in Woodland (about an hour from here) at Swim League Championships. I will be catching up on three weeks of postponed client projects. And our sweet Peggy will be mentally plotting her escape from the Joint. She'll be home a week from today.
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