… it’s not The Monia. That’s what our grandson told his mother, reporting on my doctor visit early yesterday morning. Not that I was talking directly to him when I was updating Grandpa on the results, of course, but if my head had been clearer I would have noticed the attentive little boy and been prepared to hear my words quoted (sort of) later.
Poor Grandpa. He tried to pick up the slack, but he just doesn’t have the patience for the constant chatter. So it was still my job to field every question and followup, including how wolves and foxes eat deer. This, right before lunch.
Sometimes I could become hysterical at these extended discussions. Without the experience of raising children, I’m always gingerly feeling my way along that thin line between The Whole Truth and Good Enough Truth.
Anyway, it’s not pneumonia, just bronchitis. And that is good news.