My friend V picked me up at chemo with fruit salad in hand, I heard the angels. Never seen anything more beautiful in my life because I was beginning my steroid-induced famish-frenzy. After she left, I was scouring my house for food... not much, but enough, and I passed out into a nap before eating my shoes or taking a bite out of the sofa.
Was sleeping peacefully when the phone woke me up... it was Camp Fuller, about to take Griffin to the hospital. No rest for the weary, an over used phrase, but true, true, true. Camp sounded like they had the situation well in hand, and they even suggested I stay put, they'd take care of it, so I did. He landed funny playing basketball and his ankle was very swollen, they thought he'd broken it, but mercifully, just a bad sprain.
As there was no football tackling involved, I was mostly worried they'd send him home. I need four weeks of camp, not one. Four weeks of no transporting, flipping $20 bills to, feeding, pestering, waiting up late till he gets home. Four weeks! Really, Eight would be nice, but I'm happy with four, four will do worlds of good, one is not acceptable.
He eventually called and sounded good, sounded chipper, he actually loves extra attention, so he'll be fine. So I popped a couple of Ambien and slept, slept, slept all night.
Little dude is getting dropped off soon and then it's the 4th of July for us. I can't wait to put a whole pack of sparklers in a jar or beer bottle and light them all at once. Mostly I can't wait to relax with friends and just have a normal, peaceful day... with lots of food, cause it takes days for those steroids to wear off.