Sunday Night

BillyBob's day started out purdy purdy good. He went to church, which was very brave--his first social outing. And he loved it.

But by midday, he started feeling bad (Poorly? Poe-ly? Sick?). He says something feels highly weird in his stomach area, and there are a few other symptoms.

Of course, if Surgical Demigod His Excellentness the Cantankerous Bladdernity, MD, PhD, at Duke had simply given our boy an MRI or a Pet scan or any of those commonplace tests, we might have found out that there is nothing weird growing inside our cow-dude, and our cow-dude wouldn't have to worry about every weird internal development.

But noooooooooooooo. "It's too expensive," said Doctor Doom. "He can't have an MRI."

Um, what?

Tone, Beth, tone. Keep it nice.

Okay, so anyway, my good William ended his Sunday night feeling discouraged and worried.

He wasn't even hungry for home-made spaghetti dinner which we have every Sunday night.

Maybe tomorrow will be lots better.

Thank you for remembering him in so many ways.

Love and more love.