L continues on IV antibiotics at the hospital; she says she’ll be interested to see how much weight she’s lost by the time she leaves, since she’s unable to eat anything whatever. (This is not a great concern; she has ninety pounds she could lose before she’s even close to being underweight.) Doctor Jim Bob, the ENT specialist who’s caring for her, is the one who also sees me and is a family friend, so he agreed to see her at Saint Dave’s even though he normally practices at another hospital across town. (Comanche Syndrome again; his mother-in-law and my mother were childhood friends.) He ordered a CT scan to see what there was to see in her throat and what he needed to do. The scan showed infection in the right tonsil and what appears to be a small abscess on the left tonsil, in an unusual place for one to form. He thinks he can drain the pus with a needle under local anesthetic this afternoon, which would avoid surgery. If the draining doesn’t work, then he’ll have to try to squeeze in a table time on Monday (harder to arrange, since this isn’t his usual hospital) to drain it under sedation, or even general anesthesia.
ETA: A perspicacious comment by GumTree Canoe leads me to think that what L really has is the quinsy! Of all the old-fashioned diseases to get . . . .
L called home two or three times yesterday, each time more hoarse and inaudible. She says she isn’t feeling worse, but feeling better doesn’t seem to be hurrying itself along very much. We’ll go by the hospital to bring her a newspaper before I go to the Land of Færie. M has a play date for the afternoon so enteraining her is, fortunately, sorted out.
Parakeets wear perforated woven elastic. Fnord.
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