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CIT--Day Twelve

Friday! Yay Friday!

Lance went with us to the hospital today, which was nice. I hate being down there by myself.

The girls spent the hour of camp up in the pt/ot therapy unit and Ashley worked on something that I can't talk about because it's something for her Daddy for his birthday and he reads this blog. Hear that Daddy? You can't know! (I'll post a picture of the present next week when it's completed and he's seen it already) Just FYI, it's a FAB PRESENT!

Next they went downstairs for a rousing game of Apples to Apples.

They seem to love this game. I can tell from the giggles and laughter coming from the Teen Room where they're playing it. (I also loved the signs on the walls in there that say if a parent is not accompanied by a teen then they are to be removed and sent back to their room)

Lance and I spent some time outside in the play area. There was lots of cool stuff to play with and the ground was squishy. I love squishy ground! Lance played with the eyeball in this toy. He loves toys and he doesn't get out much so don't judge him too harshly. (Hi honey! LOL!)

After hour number two it was time to remove the casts. PEEEE--YEEEEEEW! Taking off one cast after it's been on someone is smelly enough, but imagine taking off THREE casts in one tiny room. They were all suffering from a severe case of Stinky Arm.
So of course, washing up was the first order of business.

Then it was off to the pool for some recreational therapy.

Is that a happy face or what? She swam and they played water volleyball. Ashley swam four laps down and back the length of the pool. I know it must have felt like heaven to have that heavy cast off her arm and be able to move through the water like she did.

Then it was showers all around (Yes, I did look like I'd taken a shower as well when we were done as Ashley wasn't paying attention with the hand held shower head and aimed it right at me).

After showering and removing all traces of Stinky Arm, it was time to put the casts back on and cover them with a new color. Ashley chose hot pink for her last week.

We have a CIT camp rule that on Fridays we can have lunch at the hospital cafeteria (or as Ashley called it when she was younger---The Fatateria)

Ash ate and we helped. She's getting pretty good with those French Fries. See?

So week two is done. Now we have the weekend (oh please let me sleep in tomorrow!) and then on to the final week.


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Thank You

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I heard a loud thud the other morning around 3:30 a.m. I checked my monitor but he'd once again turned it to the wall so I was unable to see if he was still in bed. I went downstairs right behind my sweet husband and dad was on the living room floor moaning and holding his head. He'd fallen. Hard.

The first picture is the day of the fall. The second is the day after. The black eye keeps blossoming. He has a gash on his head, hidden by his silver hair and he skinned his shoulder/arm. He's a mess.

Was he using his walker? Nope. 85 year old toddlers cannot be told what to do. Or rather, they can be told what to do, they simply won't comply. Ever. In fact they get down right angry and throw fits. It's not pretty.

His physical therapist came to the house the next day and strongly told him to use his walker EACH TIME HE STOOD UP. Has he? Nope. Nyet. He was very angry with me yesterday because I kept asking him to use his walker. Also, I asked him i…



Back on the horse
Monkey on his back
I see no light
Not even a crack
Back to delusions
Back to the lies
I see through his words
He can't hear my cries

Back into his soul
Back into his veins
The poison he pours
Dark liquid his chains

Backed into a corner
Heartbroken and torn
Back into the needle
The eye of the storm

Back to the wall
Soul bruised torn and broken
Back to my pain
His eyes half open

Back into the horror
Will he ever come back
Back into the nightmare
A needle in a sack

Back into his childhood
I loved him with fury
Looking back on his life
His choices my jury

How did this happen
Back to evil and sin
How can he do this
Lines on his skin

Back to my weeping
Back to my sorrow
My son, my love,
Has no more tomorrows
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