... for Duncan is this: easy chair, track pants, glass in hand, watching movies... I got the strangest flash today that I was seeing him as he might appear in 60 years' time, blanket on his knees, beer in hand, completely absorbed in the boob tube. Yikes!
He's his old self now, after having slept soundly for almost 11 hours last night, and is behaving normally now, asking for spicy roasted pepper and sausage pasta or that sort of thing. Instead he's had to subsist on grenadine syrup in water, homemade popsicles, pudding, ice cream, and yoghurt and so on. He's not a fellow with a sweet tooth, so where Malcolm would be in seventh heaven, Duncan doesn't seem that interested. He tried some chicken soup today and that was a success, and has asked several times when he'll be allowed to eat real food again.
He's not complaining of any pain, so long as I make sure to give him a dose every four hours of pain medication, and keep up the fluids, and his activity level is normal. In fact, I have to keep reminding him to slow down, and stop acting out all the moves from Kung-Fu Panda or Superman, at least until his stitches are healed up. In the meantime it's pretty much continuous movies, drawing and colouring, and bandes dessinées.
Maggie just got home so it's time for dinner...
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