As if the minor setback reported April 23rd wasn't enough, I've added a new problem: a serious upper respiratory infection causing me to temporarily lose my voice and part of my hearing in one ear and requiring (since Wednesday evening) a second antibiotic, the worst tasting cough syrup on the market, 10+ boxes of Kleenex (and counting) and an oxygen tank. My life sucks. (Actually, it wheezes and tries to cough up a lung every few minutes, but that doesn't have the same succinct ring to it.)

I can't even begin to tell you how much your cards and letters have meant. When the Activities lady comes by with the mail, I perk up a bit. I really love reading it although, lately, it has been quite dangerous. Some of it was so funny, I nearly died laughing. (Okay. Okay. Maybe "died laughing" is not quite accurate, but it sounds so much better than "passed out from my inability to intake oxygen in a timely manner". And, yes, I know "faint" is the proper medical term.)

The Activities Director here is a cunning one. About two weeks after a three-minute Q&A about my preferred activities -- in which I said "no" quite often -- the lady appeared at my door with a box of birthday cards. Seems she was just "too busy" to write out the residents' cards and would I be so kind as to use my fountain pens and do it for her. I agreed and did so. The next week she asked if I would hand write 25 invitations to the Volunteer Dinner for her. (She thought it would be so much more personal to have a resident do it and this way she wouldn't have to pay for printing.) Again, I did it and she said she was thrilled. I'm expecting her to knock again any minute.

My medicines are here. The gagging sound you're about to hear is me trying to keep down my cough syrup.