All Quiet on the Western Front

I started the day with some hope I'd be going home but apparently it was the root beer talking.

The nephrologist spoke to the hospitalist who consulted with the physical therapist (all of whom wear different color scrubs to help you out tell them apart, unless you're color blind, then you,'re screwed) and the decision was I am staying until at least Tuesday.

I'm starting to think they're actually talking to my wife who's saying, "Take your time."

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.

-bill kenny