Midnight approaches, and my question sounds out: How in the world do I stack these cut-out sugar cookies on top of one another without messing up their icing? The Christmas trees might smudge into the ice cream cones to make some odd laxative brown run-off.
Tomorrow, I present the cookies to the fourth grade class as "Cody's Mom". He won't let me just drop them off at the office (I asked). No, I have to serve them with a special smile because I am his mom on his birthday, showing up to show Sara and Justin and Billy that I am wearing a special smile because of the rockin' cookies that I have spent the last five hours arranging for my awesome son's special birthday celebration.
However, they still sit on the table, scattered chaotically, and their store-bought icing is not hardening into a shell. Hmmmm........... It's suprising that the kitten hasn't left whisker marks upon some of them like she did my pumpkin pie.
The day has been problematic, though, with solutions still around the corner. We went to the pulmonary doctor's office at 8:30. A large medical technologists came slumping in around 9:00 to do yet another sweat chloride test. The doctor and I explored the possibilities of the chronic cough
.... cystic fibrosis
Cody bravely coughed up into a cup, received a t.b. poke, breathed with his finger in a respiratory machine. Then we went to the hospital next door for a cat-scan on his lungs and some blood drawing. The sweat chloride test came back positive for cystic fibrosis. My pediatrian told me, yet it must be a positive negative, I said. The numbers from the three tests were too erratic: 25, 54, 84; the 54 and 84 were one week apart. The doctor(s) told me that it was abnormal, yet they weren't sure about the conclusion. So, a blood test wings its way to California for more diagnosis, for a closer look at genetics.
I don't believe it.
The pulmonologist called and said that there wasn't much evidence from the cat scan for the histoplasmosis afterall.
We're waiting. More information will come on Friday (the sputum results will be back), and in 3-4 weeks with the CF conclusive blood test.
Cody made the pediatric-short-stay nurses laugh; he told his jokes; he told them about his 'crush.' He mentioned his 'stubborn teenager sister.' He was about to tell them about his dad's recent bad words, but I managed to cut him off in time. The nurses were laughing. The afternoon passed with images of Cody flashing a big smile and wild, bright eyes.
The hospital hallways were full and quiet, though; people loped toward the sick. Finally, at 3:30 p.m., we escaped to make Christmas cookies as if nothing had ever happened outside of our kitchen before.
Mere du Cody