She has to "sleep" in this machine with anti-embolish booties shooting air in turn. It felt like sleeping next to the Darth Vader. The machine slowly worked her post-operative hip, and made her CRY. Some help came Vicoden and Valium and lots of movies boys tend to hate. A daily shot in the STOMACH (to a women who use to faint at the sight of them in movies -- have to uncheck the -- no chance of heroine addiction -- off the list), followed by two hours lying on her stomach to stretch out the hip flexors, and two sessions of PT a day -- which all also made her CRY. You like the white granny tights? They're anti-embolish too -- sufficed to say -- we did everything necessary to battle the evil embolism possibilty. Crutches for a long time... my poor dizzy funky gimpy sweetie. She now has an unhealthy attachment to a tinker bell blanket...though she has stopped chewing her nails, I fear she may start sucking her thumb.
I read her journal when she could not stop me, to find out what boys she kissed in Europe.
I'm nice, but I'm cunning.
