Vicky is going back to Methodist Hospital to have a feeding tube inserted. Don't know how long she will be there. They did a CAT scan of her stomach; it looks normal. I am so frustrated, sad, angry at the world and her surgeon, and distressed by this turn of events. My brother will be there this weekend, which is good, although she doesn't want him there. Why, I don't know.
I was awake from 4-5 this morning thinking about her. That's a real bum time to lay awake thinking all kinds of depressing thoughts. Then I realized I had locked the kittens in my sewing room. I did some painting around where the old TV was and I didn't want little peach-colored paws. I checked the paint; it was dry. So at 4 this morning I released them so they would come to cuddle with me. A little warm, furry body always helps.
I'm beginning to think that what Vicky really needs is some time in a really good psychiatric facility. There is a good one in Minneapolis where she has been treated before when her hearing got really bad. I even mentioned this to her husband; he said he had been thinking the same thing.
But there is happy news. The puppy who was born July 8th (a Cancer) is a yellow lab and her name is (drum roll) Harleen. Sounds like a country western singer to me or a hooker in New Orleans. I guess we can at least play some country western tunes for her. We are going to be a big hit in the park. Come, Harleen, come. That should get some looks from folks.