Kate

Ostara and the Ovid Moon of Metamorphoses

Tuesday gratefuls: Diane and Mary. Margaret, nurse case manager. Kep. Rigel. Cremation. Death. Illness. Covid. Vaccines. April Fool’s.

Wednesday gratefuls: Kate. Swedish E.R. Hospitals and rehab centers. Friends and family. All of you, each of you. Sunrise. Pesach. Mountain Waste. The dogs. Also, always.

Sparks of joy: Margaret. Insurance. Vaccines. #2 tomorrow. Kate’s, April 17th.

Oh, geez. (imagine a Minnesota inflection here) Kate thought she’d stored everything she needed in the panels in our overhead fan. Nope. Just fan blades. She went in and out of hallucinations, delusions on the way, yet again, to the E.R. at Swedish.

Once there we waited a long time to be told, not sure what’s going on. They did admit her and she’s now in the hospital. What happens next? Not sure. Leigh Thompson, her doctor, Margaret, Kate, and I have all agreed to hospital, then rehab center. But. Get a call from Kate about 5 am. “I can come today.” Oh, geez.

This rhythmic pattern, hospital, home, decline, emergency room, hospital, home, decline wears on both of us. The idea behind the rehab is to get some weight and strength back so she can move for herself at home. Interrupt the pattern, or reset it on a longer amplitude.

Gotta workout now. Short one today. Catch you either later today or tomorrow.

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