Play doh look-a-like chicken

I believe I need new shoes. 

Yes. All kinds of colours to prance around in and pretend that I'm a lady and stuff. 

The kind that go click click click down the hall. 

A hospital hall would definitely be the perfect setting to hear the click click click. 

The one right outside my door. 

Yes. I am back in lock up. 

I was working from home (due to the low white blood cell count and hiding from germs, viruses, etc) when Tuesday afternoon my phone rang. It was Toronto.

 **yes, the city called**

The transplant team reviewed my blood work, and my ridiculous symptoms that have pursued me since Christmas, and ordered me to the ER. CF clinic said the same. 

Hours later, I found myself in a fantastical room with no curtains. How is there no curtains? It's just weird. Apparently housekeeping takes them away to some magical place and doesn't replace them. 

So I'm here. Waiting for improvement. Not excited to be here, BUT excited for improvement. Excited to walk out of here healthy. 

What won't make me healthy is the food brought to my room. So today Brad and I went to the cafeteria. 

Never. Again. 

Coincidence? My stomach has been hurting ever since I swallowed some of that play doh look-a-like chicken.  

Ew.  

Nice nurse lady just told me she'd page the on call doc to come see me.

I feel like ripping my stomach out and throwing in that big garbage bucket over there. 

Reprieve - the gravol fed through my IV earlier. I was out for hours. Literally.