I saw Leann today. Except for that whole serious abdominal surgery, the tubing to various machines, and the morphine induced in-and-out blinky eyes, she looked pretty good. She let me get her ice and water, and we talked about things and laughed as much as she could tolerate.

I felt so sad because she misses her kids, but she said that she knows that if they come to see her they're going to want to hug her. I said, "Have them hug your knee like there's no tomorrow, until you can tolerate the real thing." She smiled and pouted,"But I want the *real* thing." If only, we'd have had a Coke commercial crew there to film, I tell ya, we'd be rich as sultans.

She was bummed I didn't bring Genny, but I was nervous about doing it without knowing what I was taking her into, so I had Genny draw her a picture that says, "Get well soon" and put some pretty flowers on it to bring tomorrow. I'm also packing tape, so we can put stuff up on her closet. Genny and I talked about that she can't hug Leann yet because she has a big owie on her tummy and has to heal, so she has to blow kisses. I also told her that Leann asked for her to draw some pictures for her, which she was very excited about and immediately headed to her art box and started rummaging about for crayons and paper.

Leann said last night that she was sensitive to smells, so I didn't want to bring flowers to her, yet. I brought her a cute stuffed bunny holding a baby bunny in its arms. She's got another week to go, though she was up walking around and stuff, according to the nurse. I guess the epidural was making her itchy, so I let the nurse know on my way out, so they could relieve the discomfort. Poor thing!

She chewed ice and gargled water the whole time I was there. Part of the problem is that she's on the top floor, and it was hotter than blue blazes up there, so she had to have a fan to keep cool, but I'm sure that was also contributing to the dryness thing. She confided in me that she occasionally chomped and swallowed some of the ice. We giggled a lot about that they won't let her eat or drink anything until she farts. I teased,"Well, you better let it rip, then!" She held her tummy and giggled. She said,"You know, Wendy, by the time I get through this, you're going to know more about me than you ever wanted to know." I said, "It's okay. Mike and I are earth signs and thus, have a very earthy sense of humor." She smiled.

Ooers, and she showed me her scar. Geesh, it looked like one of those emergency c-section scars -- like about from her sternum to just below her c-section scar. I said,"Well, you've lost enough weight to wear a bikini, but you're probably going to want to wear a one-piece to cover that for a year." She smiled,"After having kids, I'll be wearing that one-piece for several years."

I thought getting to the roof of the parking garage where the breeze was blowing and the temps were a relatively balmy 50 something degrees was a welcome vacation. I wished I could bottle up some of that nice wet nearly-spring air and bring it to her. I drove home with the windows cracked, just to smell the air. You can still feel winter, but spring seems so awfully close on a sunny late winter day.

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I finally dropped off last night about 5AM -- I watched the moon set. My blessed beautiful doctor called me in some ambien today to get used to this whole stupid mask that doesn't work anyway thing. Basically, I'm going to try the new mask (hopefully it gets here tomorrow!), if that doesn't work, then I go to the new pressure with the old mask. If that doesn't work, I get another sleep study. The nurse teased me that I would be thrilled about that. I said, I'd just be thrilled to get a good night's sleep ANYWHERE.

I'm getting to be a sleep ho. A little shuteye here and there in the day -- sometimes just resting my eyes for 10 minutes is deliriously beautiful, a nap, coffee -- anything. I'm scared to drive because I'm so hideously wiped out. I avoid driving the kids anywhere unless I've slept. It's humiliating in some ways to seem like an adult and feel so inept.

My husband is a saint -- doing the best he can, but I'm scared that one of these days, I just won't wake up at all.