Not, mind you, winning big. But we count 'em all. The physical therapists came yesterday, this time bringing a diaper. Though we didn't get Tim and Cory, it was Cory and a blonde lady whose name I never heard. Though Dad didn't exactly walk anywhere, he did stand up twice. If common sense had won out a month ago (ie patient is incontinent = might need a diaper for physical therapy) he'd probably be dancing by now. But hey- we win through in the end.
Margaret's hernia procedure is today and I've got an appointment with a dermatologist to look at this mole on my face. I'm hoping as usual to be told I'm a hypochondriac. And maybe somehow to get some lunch. But Dad's sweetheart's more important.
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