Annajane is back in the psych hospital. She's physically stable, moderately confused, and hypomanic. They're slowly working her lithium back up and trying to decide what to do about antipsychotics. It's not clear, and probably never will be, whether she had neuroleptic malignant syndrome, but they'll be as careful about the meds as if she did.
Nanna is getting better slowly. We called an ambulette service to take her to her doctor's appointment last week, when her back pain was still very bad. She probably has an osteoporotic compression fracture. (Well, a new one. She's already kyphotic.) Her doctor yelled at her for non-compliance (she's refused to take medication for either her palpitations or her osteoporosis) and referred her to a cardiologist and an orthopedist. Both those appointments are this week. I'll take her to those, then go back home.
We have an appointment with Cornell on August 12. I can't tell whether anyone read our letter. My cycles are poorly timed, so I'll have to make a separate trip (or stay a long time) to have them do the day 3 bloodwork. Which I want to have them do, actually. Heck, give me another HSG, too! Still, it's frustrating that we may end up waiting another 2 months and spending a thousand (or two) dollars just to be told that they won't work with us unless Beaker has another operation, which he won't.
I'm getting really sick of my uncle. Also, driving in dense suburban Weatherwood. And the Vuitton-swinging pregnant ladies at the Starbucks (sadly, the only WiFi hotspot I can find, and I have to pay). I miss Beaker. I want to go home, and home just isn't here any more.
Jane Austen has been saving my soul. But I haven't been getting any work done at all.