My mom's still in the hospital - her thyroid is acting up now (it always has, but to the extreme I guess) - and I am not liking that development at all.  Prior to this, except for a day surgery here and there, my mom hasn't been in the hospital since my soon to be 26 year old sister was born.  And the only time, before that, that she was a non-maternity patient, was when she was a teenager and had her appendix taken out.  So, before I was born, basically.  It's a frightening thing, no matter how serious or not serious it is.  And my mom is a horrible patient - today she walked down to the nurses' station and asked them if they had anything she could help with.  They had to laugh, and direct her back to her room.  You can't see me, but I am shaking my head.  Because that is how ridiculous she is. 

She not unused to hospitals - between my grandmother, me, my grandfather, my aunt, even a great uncle or two, she's been designated care person a lot of times, but not for herself.  (And will she let me do it?  No, she will not.  Frustrating!) And it's like everything she has learned about hospitals - that rounds are ridiculously early and blood draws happen at 4 a.m.; that you have to keep after the nurses, even when they're doing their best, because otherwise the doctor has gone home for the night before they manage to get in touch with him; that it's ok to ask for things like help untangling your cords so you can get to the bathroom; that sometimes it's nice just to have somebody sit next to you for a while, even if you're not doing anything, and even better to have a second set of ears (and questions) when the doctor wanders in - all of those rules and experiences, she can't seem to apply to herself. 

So there's that. 

Tomorrow, she's supposed to come home.  This is the third tomorrow in a row, though, so I am not holding my breath, because I remember how hospitals really work, and that one random number in your blood tests can mean more than one inconvenient delay.  Instead of holding my breath, I am making cookies.  Even though I can still barely eat, and food, for the most part, is unappetizing: I want cookies, and I want to make them from scratch.  So chocolate chip cookies, here I come. 

That's my Friday plan, how about you guys? 

PS - Thanks for all the Twitter love; I'm pretty sure I'm an idiot, because even though my real name was NOT supposed to show up, it did.  I don't even know where my brain was, or how that happened.  I think it's fixed now?  It looks fixed on my computer, anyways.  The sister who knows about my blog was commenting (in real life) about how I am really kind of of two minds about the whole 'screw it if people find me!'/ 'Holy Shitballs ~ someone might find me!' faux-internet-anonymity thing: It's true, I am, and I guess I must talk about it a lot.  Sorry if that's boring to you.  I don't get the sense that it's going to resolve itself, really; I'm going to want to be both public and private at the same time, and I'm going to have to know that there's a very small long term possibility of that happening.  For now, the risk is worth it.  It might not always be, but I can't tell you how glad I am to have this place, just today, just, right now. 

Glad enough that I would send you all cookies, if I could.