Imagine me lifting the dark blue plastic lid covering the dinner plate here in room 517 last night.
Picture the look on our faces when we see the small half of a bird reclining in a dull glaze.
If you can get that far without cracking up, consider us laughing to the point of tears when Middle attempts to tell me that it is an Asian Cornish Hen being offered for dinner. He could barely speak for laughing so hard.
That was the last we saw of it.
Middle had a graham cracker and it didn't go well.
Our roommate is a 96 year-old gentleman with perfect manners and a tiny, skinny frame. He sleeps mostly and does not snore.
I've realized that this is the longest time Middle and I have spent alone together probably since he was born. I'd say that I am able to be helpful about 50% of the time. The other half I am the very worst kind of pain in the ass. I talk too much. I threw out his cup of water. I ask a question he wanted to ask. I don't ask a question he wanted me to ask.
It's a crap shoot.
This evening, K and I will trade places so I can sleep and go to work tomorrow.
We're doing okay, and after just a few more tests and bags of IV fluids we think he'll go home.