04.10.04 - 12:07 a.m.

S will eat all the mix before the night's over. I'm convinced of it. She's on her third bowl already, and has already spent at least ten minutes standing over my shoulder while eating.

I'm not sure how I'm going to get through this weekend. I wish she would go to bed so that I can... I'm not sure what. So that I can relax and be awake without her being awake, around me. It's so rude, but I'm used to some distinct and sure level of solitude that is, unfortunately, missing in circumstances such as these.

Mom will be in the hospital until at least next Wednesday, which means that we'll celebrate Easter in the hospital. Woo. She's on 72-bed rest, which means she can't get up to use the bathroom, which is... not nice. It's better than last time, though, when she was after surgery and so lethargic from the drugs and in such pain, barely able to walk.

Since Mom didn't get a chance to make them, I made our traditional peanut butter eggs. Easy, but time consuming, and therefore a bit irritating. I spent at least two hours (I'm exaggerating, but it was at least an hour) rolling the balls and dipping them into chocolate, and so on. They're easy to make, except for the time investment: a combination of peanut butter (1 jar), 1/2 teaspoon vanilla, and powdered sugar (alot), to just the right consistency, dipped in melted chocolate.

So, for Easter we're going to get a Heavenly Ham, and I'm going to make a tortellini salad and Easter Crown bread and a torta (for an appetizer) and we're going to eat in the hospital, since Mom can't leave.

Her protein studies were normal, she doesn't have DVT in her legs, just the clot in her abdomen, and they decided that a filter was inappropriate. She's getting shots of Lovomax? Lovomox? Something? and Coumadin, and her platelets have returned to normal. Low-normal. And, apparently, they'll know she's okay to walk again because - just cos - for no real reason.

It's not quite clear to me.

However, I should get to bed because I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.

I hate that hospital, though. I hate how familiar it is. I hate how familiar it will still be in a year or two: I hate how many times I might have to go there. And I hate that it's nighttime and my mom's there by herself, and so on. :(

Oh, well.

Sleepy. And inarticulate: a fine combination.