The Old Folks at Home

"The doctor didn't sign the script," the lady at the registration desk said. "And we need a fax number to fax the results."

No idea what's on his head. From the beforetimes

So much for drawing blood before Mr. Ginley's ultrasound last Monday. We were trying to combine trips so that I wouldn't have to have the transport service schlep him more than once.

Oh well.

From there, we went to the radiology department. I went in with him and helped him get on and off the bed. (He tweaked his back, and it was sore for a few days, but it's getting better.) We're still waiting for the test results. I told Mr. that they've put him through so many scans over the past months, I'm thinking this is just to establish a baseline, post-kidney stone, going forward.

Later that same day, Dan came to pay a visit and talk about financial planning and wills and such. He and Mr. had a nice discussion about things, and Mr. was a happy camper. We've always liked Dan (we try not to call him "Danny" these days), who went to school and played baseball with our son. 

The rest of the week passed quietly. We're perfecting our technique for getting Mr. into and out of "The Cloud," his uber-comfortable easy chair. More books and papers have been culled, warranting additional trips to Savers, the library, and Half-Price Books.

It's hard to believe we're halfway through August and kids are getting ready to head back to school. Time is such a weird construct these days. Each day that passes without incident elicits a big sigh at bedtime and a speedy drop off to dreamland (where weird things happen that I can't remember the next morning, thankfully).

And, as Sonny and Cher said, "The Beat Goes On."

"Did you know that they have a place for cats to go to school?" Mr. inquired this morning. 

"It's called "Kittie-garden."

And so it goes.