He gave me a mild scold that I’d been talking about birds on my blog and avoiding telling what’s going on. I allowed as how that was true. But they’re so cute!
So. How ’bout them peregrines? Two were snoozing at the end of the ledge this afternoon, and one gets up after awhile and decides it’s time to go play. He (of course it’s Veer, who else) nudges his sister with his beak. She’s snoozing. He tries again; nothing doing. He picks up that big foot of his and gives her a decided shove.
Veer–let me explain this to you. I am ignoring you. I am ASLEEP. Notice the closed eyes?
He puts his foot out again and broadsides her. Waits for a response. Nada.
Does it again, at which point she turns her head away and does all but roll her eyes, which are now finally open. VEER! I. Am. NOT. getting. UP!
On the other side of siblinghood, yesterday, when Kya was up on that roof drying off from her ordeal, a report came in this morning that said that she’d flattened herself down in the way that’s referred to as “pancaking,” the way the babies sleep, with feet out behind and bellies flat, to soon see one of her siblings (one report said Veer, one, Ilahay) who’d flown up there to keep her company. The arrival pancaked down beside her and stayed there till Kya was ready to pick herself up and give it a go again. She was not alone.
She ended up eventually safely back in the nest.
I don’t know if that was her on the ledge today with her brother or if it was another sister. C’mon! There’s a gorgeous world waiting out there for us. I’ve seen it! Let’s go fly!
Give it a rest for now, okay, Veer?
Oh, alright, be that way, and he half flew half ran off down the ledge and away.
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And just because it’s Dad’s birthday and he wants me to, okay, yes, I’ll add a report. My Dr. R finally got back from his sabbatical, something I’d been waiting for (along with probably half the population in town, it must feel like to him.)
Bleeding below the endpoint of the colectomy surgery, pain above in upper GI, although less of the latter now. So. I’m to go on prednisone again while hoping it’s not enough to set off a diabetes reaction again, come in for x-rays next Thursday and see him again the next day, and meantime he scoped that bleeding stapled-off stump. (The big G search engine is not my friend on any further description here and that’s probably more than you want to read anyway.) Totally Crohn’s-y looking. Further surgery is one eventual option, but not yet. Biopsies taken.
And I had not told him anything about it nor said anything to her this morning, but it was all I could do not to snicker as he surprised me by telling the nurse I’d “already been prepped” for the scope: she had shoved a pamphlet at me last week with pre-sigmoidoscopy dietary restrictions. I’d tried to explain to her that there was no colon.
She insisted.
No connection. Does Not Apply.
She still insisted.
I drank my thoroughly-dairy-containing hot cocoa yesterday morning and this with a feeling that it was an act of defiance.
Guess who was assisting at the scope. Not that I’d said anything to her, but. A lesson to myself not to roll my eyes at any nurse ever, even just from within, because you never know when you’ll need them, and besides. Who doesn’t need a little gentleness their way anyway. It was probably at least partly a language barrier, which must be very difficult for her and I of all people, with my deafness issues, knew it.
Meantime, I am enjoying my time chuckling at the antics of teenage birds acting so much like my kids did and my siblings and I before that, while grateful to good parents who helped us learn to spread our wings well. Happy birthday, Dad!