What's in my Magma?

Lucy Beam.  As Friday approaches, my nerves are shattered, why would I engage in decision making?  Bad enough that this linen piece of whatever the hell was dipped green to tone the red, violet to drown the yellow, bleach to start over, and it just kept going.  I still don't like it, but since the sampler is tight with stitches, it will be just fine.

More thread than called for, I have almost double on the ring so I can choose as I go.

Seeing my cardio at 8am and will be scolded for not taking my meds.  My routine test numbers look fine, next up is the CT scan for the pulmonologist checking on the particles in the upper lung that he said are sometimes precursors to lung cancer.  Not thinking about that now, trying to gauge what dose of Ativan I will need Friday since I will be alone with Carole for these two critical talks.  She is inconsolable and the stupor from Oxy is making it worse.  She adores and trusts my reasonable and stable husband, but he isn't even allowed in the freaking building, banished again to a long hallway with no food or drink for most of the day, and a long walk across the street to the back of a huge parking garage for the nearest restroom on the third floor.  He's vaccinated, I'm not.  Make sense?

Sitting outside by myself, Petey left, Nitzy is in the house and a absolute challenge to administer eye drops three times a day.  It's an ulcer, medication to bridge the recess for healing, antibiotic, pain.  Back in two weeks and drops will be for at least another month.  Once healed, both eyes will require a steroid type medication which if given now, would destroy his eye.

Carole will be calling soon, sobbing and asking why this is happening, when will it stop, and I need to shore up for what should be the last such call today.  They start in the morning and continue until late evening.

Goodnight stitching buds.  Sleep well.

*****************