(no subject)

As I type these words, ickle Franky Frou Frou has had his zipper opened by the vets, who are poking about in his stuffing, trying to work out why he has recently become Franky Spew Spew. Further news as I have it.

My endocrinologist was surprisingly positive about those dodgy blood test results, pointing out that they've improved a lot since the start of the year. My blood sugars will do better the more I can get my bum to the gym; as the sugars drop, so will the triglycerides, which in any case are only a little over the ideal number. And the albumin thing could be a fluke, as it tends to vary widely from day to day. So he's happy to leave me on the bike machine for six months, with no new meds. Whew.

(no subject)

Frank's out of surgery and resting comfortably. They took lots of samples of his insides; we'll have results during the next week or so. I'm (a) relieved, of course, and (b) having horrible first year zoology flashbacks.

I have done a brave but foolish thing, viz, made a solemn vow before two of my gods that I won't buy any more books this year. It's an offering: the money saved, which will probably be hundreds of dollars, will help pay for Frank's treatment. (It's not like I don't have a houseful of unread books!)