I’ve been thinking about pursuing alternative methods of treatment in conjunction with the excellent medical care Peanut is already recieving. I feel I do her a disservice when I see her only in terms of a diagnosis, and I think that no matter what the future holds, she could certainly benefit from better supportive care.
But where should we start? Maybe…bunny massage.
My brother and I were priming the walls of the addition today. Mom and Dad were both at work, and Hannah was at a friend’s house, so it was just the two of us working in a rather small area with large amounts of white, chemical-scented glop.
As we were working, and already starting to get goofy, a septic truck pulled up near the house in order to pump our tank. The side of the truck said (I kid you not) “4,000 Gallons of You Know What”. That’s when the edges of our sanity began to chip away, and as the truck pulled out of our driveway and down the road, Stephen and I belted out a stirring rendition of “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You” only replacing the word you with poo.
Like I said, I’m blaming the paint fumes.
