How Sick Do We Have To Be?

     Well, perhaps sicker...

     We're ordering Cipro by the vat--not kidding. 200-500mg pills showed up this week from Canada at the behest of our family doc. We're dividing it up as instructed. And swallowing it dutifully. Yum. Yum. Yum. Ceftin for the little guy. He's starting to get tired of it. At first it was the wonderful fruity goodness and now on day fifteen when he's still sick at his stomach and hacking his head off, the fruity goodness can take a hike. No one feels good. Sinusitis, broken teeth, strep throat, root canals, and run-of-the-mill allergies and all that. Clanpaw and his HDK+HC (high dose ketaconazole plus hydrocortizone) therapy are moving right along, but he's getting "tired" and refusing to take naps because it  is an "idle thing." What are we? Quakers?

     Baba is probably the most ecstatic because she's still "on track" for her boob job. Whatever the heck that means at this point. This is the LONGEST boob job in history. And with Clanpaw in a treatment plan, her perspective that she's has to/going to die first is now in tact again. NO, I don't understand the boob job versus wanting to die first...sort of defies logic at this point. But, she's happy. Happy-er. That makes exactly one of us when it comes to the big "c" around here.

     And, of course, you have probably noticed my humor has gone south. Distinctly south.

When will it end...
Scat