Letters to Holly

Tuesday, December 7

Hello, Winter

The Friday doctor's appointment was good news/bad news.

The dandy: The doctor said that if he's shown even incremental improvement, that's a sign that he'll completely grow out of this by the time he's one year old. His rule contends that "90% of the patients get 90% better 90% of the time. " He'll stay on the Prevacid and return in six months.

The stinky: All that took 30 seconds and a $60 co-pay. Seems like we could have done this over the phone for free.

It's true that his snoring is a tenth of what it once was, and I wonder if the Prevacid is for our assurance more than his health. After more than a week of sleeping on his back, we've heard no regression, suggesting the reflux is under control. What has interrupted his sleep is the cold snap. It's f'ing freezing. Literally. We've ordered insulated curtains for his room. As I type, there's snow blowing like crazy in Asheville. I stayed home Monday and put up the Christmas tree. Your Sister bought the boy's first stocking. He can fit in it.

We piled into the car again and drove to a nearby Christmas street market in Flat Rock. It was nice. Small, but nice. The sleet probably affected the turnout, leaving more edibles for us. Your Sister specifically went for the advertised mushroom soup only to be told by that vendor that he couldn't get it together in time. Her grievous wound was salved with Starbucks.

The deputy and the cat now have wrestling characters in my new video game. They are tag team champions, and their entrance music is "No Sleep Til Brooklyn." I love this game.

I dropped by my new GP today for my pre-physical bloodwork. I was told I would replenish the three vials' worth by tonight, and this would not affect my ability to donate a pint Saturday. I assume they would call immediately if the vials turned out to be filled with buffalo sauce.

We'd like to have family over around Christmas and New Year's for a meal. Are you available?

Picture of the Day
Build your own Falcon.

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