The movie Saan spent her evening watching. Makes you think. Really. About... relationships, memories, ethics, hair colors, second chances and the fact that Saan has to go to the hospital tomorrow.
Part of the title is due to Saan stubbing her toenail two minutes ago. Which strained the stitches enough to make her gasp. It doesn't really hurt anymore. It's just being whiny in an annoying, distracting, almost-pain kind of way. If she's damaged anything vital, she'll be very sorry in the morning.
Okay, so the face-thing got taken to the doctor's (new, unknown, but nice doctor). Diagnose: facial semi-paralysis (nerves work, eyes work, left half works, muscles of the right half don't work at all). Possible causes: a) sudden change in temperature (think: hanging your head out of the car window when driving fast and it's hot in the car. Bad-kids-paralysis, in other words) b) lack of vitamins (possible. Saan's been living off chocolate spread, junk-food and cereal with milk since her toe became a very demotivating factor in coming out of bed in the morning) c) her flu from last week d) a mysterious hospital-virus that does not affect cartillage, but the right half of her facial muscles.
Saan has not been in a car since driving to the doctors. In her mom's shuddery car, which made Saan actually watch the news that night. Her dad had banned her from her bed until sleepy-time. So Saan went to lie down very quietly in the sofa. Discovery: her toe pities her enough to quiet down if she stays very, very still. And lies down. If she just stays very, very still, sitting or something, the toe just feels tight. Ignorable.
Saan has god-awful eating habits. Being half-mobile in the face makes the actual eating quite spectacular. A straw and a lot of time solve most of it. She ate about a tenth of her plate and was then excused on the grounds of a) having eaten a bit of everything, even the parts she doesn't like, plus a full bowl of soup and b) everyone else having finished a plate or more. She had some home-made chocolate mousse later. A little runny, and with chocolate curls on top. Try to imagine: right half of the face out of order, right-handed Saan and a large wineglass full of semi-fluid and loose chunks. It took her nearly an entire glass to figure out that licking was the easiest and fastest way to get everything done. The doctor put her on vitamin B supplements, her dad added omega-3 capsules. Because being off the humongous anti-biotics was too good to be true, probably.
Her flu is the next possible bd guy on the list. Seeing as all things medical, viral, bacterial, disinfectional and pill-shaped have turned against Saan, she is rooting for that being the cause.
The hospital thingy is her mom's theory, not the doctors. Saan and the doctor agree on the fact that it seems unlikely that anything would go from her toe to her face. Saan thinks her right ankle would make an easier target, as it's prone to just going 'Okay, we've walked half a kilometre. I'm going to HURT now' in the wrong shoes. In the right shoes, she lasts up to five km. One of the many reasons why Saan always wears running shoes and all her running shoes are smelly and icky. She's got two pairs, and a pair with one of the laces gone and half of the soles missing. So, she's got two pairs and three quarters of another pair of running shoes. And is in the need for a new one, since all three are falling apart (or starting to) at the seams. Saan's inability to wear shoes has put that need on hold.
So, the doctor sent Saan to a neurologist. More hospitals. Her mom wanted to go to the emergency thingy, since she was going to the hospital for a physical check-up anyway. Saan's toe felt hurt-y enough for Saan to... Well, kick up a fuss, make a scene and proclaim her never-ending hatred for hospitals, waiting rooms and stitches in the most essential toe of her entire walking system. Yes, Saan is right handed as well as right footed. She discovered this through soccer and her ingrown toenail, which put her in the toe-operational mess to begin with. No PE for the next two weeks, though. Her mom was in enough of a hurry to just call... okay, so she called three hospitals before phoning the medical center the closest after Saan's hometown, where they apparently grow the neurologists on special trees. All other guys were like 'ninth of May should work', 'I've got a tiny spot for you in three weeks, lady'. The doctor's orders were: 'find a neuro-hospital-dude as fast as possible'. So now she'll be going to one this Thursday. Eek, much. But, apparently, it's not all bad. Saan can still control her right eyelid to some extent. Some people get it stuck up, and need eyedrops. Saan can close her eye--right up to the point where upper meets bottom lid. Then there's a teensie-weensie gap that dries her eye out some, making it itchy. So now Saan's constantly rubbing her eye behind her glasses, because she can't blink fully.
Yif came in for the second time this vacation to check up on Saan. Saan was asleep and buried under her duvet. Yif took two tries to notice the top of unwashed hair and the foot sticking out. She did tell Saan that the face-thing doesn't really stand out if you don't know, but Saan's brother knows (has to look at Saan whole days, so he probably notices the subtle differences) and kept on picking on it until she cried. Saan took the crying as her cue for a nap, until Yif showed up. Saan escaped Yif's usual irresistible urge to take pictures on the grounds of being hurt and having been woken from a perfectly fine nap.
Yif's visit reminded Saan of her lack of shower for the last few days. She can't, because the stitches have to stay dry. Once again, boo for stitches and hospitals. Both are mean and hurt. Saan is not much of a bath-girl, and hasn't been since she was twelve. Usually, it takes things like injuries or someone working on the shower to force her into the bath. Or holidays to Damme (near Bruges), where they don't have a shower. So, after getting soap in her mouth, playing with the foam and not flooding the bathroom thanks to her mom spraying out her hair, Saan got clean. She smells like something that she later discovered to be shower gel meant for traveling. Whoops. It's good for sensitive skin, which is why Saan put it in to begin with. Saan is planning on smuggling a bottle to the shower once she can shower again. The stuff does not dry out her legs in a snowfall of tiny dead skin flakes.
The only problem is that, while it's from a brand that Saan cheers on and loves to all infintiy, the brand a) is so expensive that it's starting to get unreasonable and b) has tupperware-like buying system. So you have to tackle down a sales(wo)man, bully an order form out of her, order small amounts (because everything has a sell-by date), wait a few weeks and pay an arm, a leg, and the same of your firstborn son and daughter. In return, you get shampoo that doesn't lie when it says 'we do not kill your hair, but it'll keep the grease at bay' and shower gel in nifty hanging bottles that is actually serious about 'very kind to the skin', and does not need any tests to prove it. (Anyone ever notice that they always say the product is tested, but never give the results about said tests?) Saanonly uses the nail polish because she's allergic to on-skin makeup, but the polish is actually quite good, and her mom swears by the other makeup for all special occasions. Strangely enough, they charge semi-reasonable prices for the (ordinary) makeup. Seven euros for a bottle of nail polish and twenty-something for powdery stuff is reasonable. All major, non-supermarket brands charge the same or more.
So, short recap of the Siege on Saan: flu-operation-face thingy-sudden drop in eyesight-next hospital on Thursday. And Saan suspects she's got the first mosquito bite on the bottom of her right foot, since there's a bite-like sting there, and she slept with that foot bare for the last few days. She's just not motivated enough to go and see.
Okay, this was Saan's daily whine for attention and spouting of her gall, in the hopes that she'll miraculously heal overnight or will not be stuck with half of her face frozen for half a year (which was the doctor's estimate. It'll pass, but slllllllowwwwwlllly.). Not having to face her childish classmates who only poke fun at things they don't see every day (books in different languages, someone who has absolutely no interest in their idea of a social life, drinking or smoking, white socks, open conversations about sexuality that do not turn into porn, people with a different religion or skin color and history, to name a few), would also be nice.
Okay, so for the last three days, Saan has been in bed, hurting enough that she could not be tempted to haul herself over to her laptop, a yard or so away from aforementioned bed. Everything was fine until the anesthethic wore off (four hours after surgery). Then everything she could do without hurting was reading and sleeping. She's now sitting up straight (as opposed to with her hurt foot elevated) for the first time in days, and the (three) stitches do not like it. Her toe feels like it's going to explode. Slowly and painfully. Later she'll be dragging herself to the bathroom to comb out her hair, brush her teeth and wash her face.
One of the nasty side effects of sleeping too much has manifested itself in the right half of Saan's face being and staying asleep. It's been poked, she still feels it, so paralysis due to an overdose of pain killers seems unlikely. Saan is the kind of suspicious person who does not trust doctors and pharmacists when it comes to what amount is the limit. Meaning she's been taking two bags where the pharmacist said four and the PIL said six.
And to top it all off, she's got a half past one appointment with her ophthalmologist for her first twice-a-year checkup. When her right eye is being wonky enough not to close completely or as quickly as it should. ...Help?
...Or that was about the argument that also did not work for Dylan (see kid in picture) in Daddy Daycare. Saan is beginning to understand how the kid felt, after a week of taking footbaths in the basement because natural stone tends to disagree with the stuff she has to put in the water andswallowing tablets not suitable for children under the age of three. The amount of antibiotics (875 mg, twice a day) and the size would have them killed before the day was over. Saan does not like doctors, and she does not like hospitals. They stick stuff into her, prescribe pills instead of liquid medication and once went as far as dabbing various chemicals on her arms in thick drops, and then using tiny hooks to open up the skin underneath. So now she's going to sulk about it on the internet, because she knows she'll have to go sooner or later, and tomorrow's a very good time (schoolwise) to go.
Her body has finally decided to give up the unfair fight against chemistry and those tiny little germs responsible for a healthy digestive system (or at least the end product of one) have been slaughtered. On the other hand, her toe is it's normal pinky shade of healthiness once more, partly thanks to her father yanking out another chunk of it, mostly thanks to the rather radical approach of the toe-doctor. 'Infection gone in one week? You weight more than X kg? Goody!' Purple is not a color you want to see at any extremity. It's worrying and scary. Biological warfare on Saan's own body seemed like a reasonable solution at the time.
But then again, her suffering, tomorrow morning, will not end after they've finished. Once the anesthethic wears off, she'll hurt. And be unable to shower or walk for a few days. She's trying to make up for it by dancing through the house (her parents are probably thinking she's never been this enthusiastic about bleeding before) to a tune she can't get out of her head. It doesn't really help, but it's fun. It does remind her of the fact that she's got another toe with the same problem, and it might require the same remedy.
Another thing on her mind is the fact that while she has reasonable fingernails, her toenails and toes are sort of the ground zero in every way of her body. The nails tend to break off at inopportune moments, and be very stubborn in the way of being cut at other times, which can make removal of the pointy bits poking her flesh a painful and tricky chore. Visions of no toenail whatsoever remaining are haunting her mind at the moment.
Wikipedia, like always, has an article on possible treatments. Saan is apparently going to get 'phenolizated', but without the phenol, if she understands correctly. They're not going to burn away the root, they're going to scrape it out. Which is why she has to go to a hospital and a specialised doctor instead of her normal GP.
Her GP knows how to handle her. A few questions, totally unrelated to Saan's physical wellbeing (Last time it was "What on EARTH do you drag around on your back? Jesus, your schoolbag weighs nearly twelve kilos! Is this NORMAL?"), ask if she has any problems with her allergies, poke around, announce the unpleasant stuff, do the unpleasant stuff, let Saan dress as soon as possible after that, give her the candy on display for the last baby she followed the pregnancy of, talk about puppies, let her go. That works. The other doc went like "You're here because? Let's see. Can I poke it? Does it hurt when I push it?". Ten minutes, which is time-efficient, but Saan did not like them at all. Also because she was sick at the time.
And so Saan has to get up early on her first free day to get tortur--treated in a town she doesn't know, by a guy who's nice enough, but will not receive a lot of sympathy from Saan.
Saan doesn't have a boyfriend, so no Valentine. Elly's birthday, but it's kinda hard to celebrate when friend a and friend b are talking less and less, and common friend c is in a different school. Sort of sad. So, in answer to the sadness and... chocolates that'll make women all over the globe feel guilty afterwards, here are few ideas for this Valentine, courtsey of Dane Cook (who wrote and performed them), the YouTubes who made movies from them (which are more fun than staring at the same artist all the time) and Saan (who put them here, even if they only fit into Valentine in her own special way):
If all goes well, Saan will be attenting school tomorrow. She's feeling a whole lot better. The reason today's post is so short is because Saan used her day of non-school to enjoy the silence, play on the Sims 2 and not start on the Resurecction of Fido the Great until rather late. Then she didn't start on today's post until Yif was gone. And then the sort of forgot to make her schoolbag and put some clothes at the ready for tomorrow. Whoops.
The picture is part of Saan's didgeridoo. The only part not a boring ocher yellow, really. It got sort of hard to see if you took a picture of the whole thing.
Saan didn't post last night because she was sick. She's still not completely better, but getting there.
Thanks to Menck, Saan discovered the statistics of her blog. Scary stuff, really. 846 unique visitors in 176 days, 4 visitors yesterday (when Saan was not there) and five pageviews. She has almost one visitor per hour, who does a tad more than two pageviews. What really had Saan confused was that there are people outside Belgium (and outside the *bleep*ing EU, even) reading this. After Belgians (okay, so Belgium has 93% of all visitors), people in the USA are the main group of readers, followed by Canada, and only then the Netherlands. More mind-boggling news is that the last place of known OS languages is shared by Belgian French and Russian. No offence meant whatsoever, but how the heck does someone with their operating system set on 'Russian' get here? Saan herself can hardly get here!
More completely unintersting Saan-news is that the doctor who will now officially remove part of her toenail forever will do so next Friday. Until then, Saan has to take antibiotics to kill the infection, and disinfect her toe into oblivion. The doctor has already promised Saan that she'll only hurt for two WHOLE minutes of the thing. Then the local anesthtic should kick in and they'll start cutting and scraping. Unless something majorly goes wrong, Saan should be back the same day. Her dad (who's already had the thing done) has promised her she'll be in agony for the following week. But, so far, the only known, real risk is that they'll remove the whole nerve, but not the whole root. Which would give Saan a tiny second toenail, to be yanked out painlessly every six months.
Saan didn't post today because her brother, after having agreed with her dad for it being the quickest and easiest way to deal with it, made Saan back-up and format her pc, and then had her re-install Windows. Still missing several bits of software, but at least Saan's back in control of the pc. Boo-yeah!
...Or so Saan's dad says. So, Saan, knowing herself, apologises for the lack of picture (she'll try again tomorrow). Things got wonky, Saan misplanned her homework, discovered a last bit of tricky homework in the end which she had overlooked and she did not take a picture of her plastic didgeridoo. Her sister says it's pretty, but Saan thinks her li'll sis has made hers prettier. Saan has one band with a mutated sun-like thingy. Her sister has two small bands and a very pretty-looking person-thingy. All in dot paint. Saan can't get the proper sound out (too much force, too much tension, according to Mr. Joeri from THIS PLACE) and her sis can play the basic drone that rattles your skull in a vibro-massage kind of way for two minutes before she bursts out laughing. The only gross part is that your breath condenses against the tube (which gets warm on the inside) and drips out. And the warmth of your skin causes the beewax (sharp edges are NASTY) to melt around your mouth. She got all the paint out, but her hands still smell like the wax. Now all that's left to do is remove the mouthpiece, spray 3 layers of varnish on, let dry, put mouthpiece back on (or ask Saan's grandpa for new wax from his beehives and mould a whole new mouthpiece) and play until Saan gets it right. Or until she can take her poi back out.
Her laptop is still not back in action, but the brother is starting to vocally solve the problem. Give it a day or two and he'll actually start on it. Or announce a formatting or new hard disk is in order.
They've announced more snow for tomorrow morning. Yesterday's snow's gone all melty on Saan.
And phisics is HARD. Someone keep their fingers crossed.
Okay, so Saan's rescanning her hard disk into oblivion (already one virus that survived the previous scans) and then transferring all files she does not want to lose to the external hard disk. Partly because the internet-provider said her pc was apparently sending spam and doing other less-than-pleasant stuff and that the internet will be cut off if she doesn't make it stop (so something's to be done and quick) and partly because, quite simply, she'll need to do it anyway. She knows what formatting means, she knows how her brother's 'foolproof' solutions usually take place (one click too much, a misplaced command and suddenly nothing works anymore) and even if her current budget would wholeheartedly agree with a new hard disk, her files would have to be ready for shipment. So she's transferring her files tomorrow, probably.
Happy news: the first snow of the blog has arrived! Okay, so it's half an inch and it'll turn every surface into a life-threatening death trap by morning (Saan lives on a 15% hill), but at least there still is some snow to enjoy this winter. If Saan has her way, the physics test for Thursday gets cancelled, she gets a few more inches of snow and she'll be allowed to build some snowwomen for once. Which won't happen, but happy thoughts are good thoughts. Saan could do with some as an EVIL, EVIL something puts her on the noisiest pc in the house while she's got a major headache.
More happy (okay, so more like 'laughable') news: Saan has a didgeridoo workshop tomorrow afternoon. She'll probably come home with a piece of plastic piping, dot-painted in lego-basic colors and the ability to imitate a soul in torment on the monster she'll have created. If she figures out how to plug in the camera or her cell phone, she might post a picture.
Okay, so all viruses have been shipped off to the Evil Virus Vault, where they can no longer multiply to their wee little, vile, black, malevolent hearts' content. The Ultra Much Work-stick has come through it all unscathed, so Saan's writings (About five years work, however bad, is a painful thing to lose to stuff like this) are luckily safe. Saan's WiFi is still turned off, because her whole system still refuses to believe she is the only administrator and thinks constantly rebooting if it has net access will make her agree on this. Two solutions are possible. A) The Juvenile Know-It-Alls' Approach: Letting her bro do some reasearch when he feels like it, in hopes of finding a solution that does not include hours of frustrating waiting and possibly loss of files. B) The Faster, Father-Advised Approach: Ship off all precious files to another pc and format hard disk. Re-install the operating system, the anti-spyware, the anti-virus, Winamp, Winrar, Winzip, all 'make the videos and sounds readable'-files, WiFi operator and Windows Live Messenger. Check if problem still persists. If not, cheer and ship back all precious files. If so, get rid (recycle) of entire hard disk and buy a new one, probably. And even though the front of Saan's mind is clamoring that B makes the most sense, the back of it is telling her to go for A. Tricky. ... When in doubt, follow the opinion of the crowd: insert poll and see what happens.
Infected! Part 2! + The POI adventure!!! Part six!!!
Okay, having discovered that the random reboot-thingy apparently works best with internet on, Saan checked if it had also taken over her WiFi station. It hadn't. Turning off the WiFi meant no internet. It did reboot while Saan was asleep, and then it got stuck before it had even finished starting up. So far, no reboot, 44 threats and 4 heals. Over 450,000 files scanned ( Where did all that junk come from?), more than ten hours of scanning.
But Saan didn't have internet today (and unless a miracle happens, won't have it for the next few days. That's bad karma for you and an apology to Philou for making fun of his internet-problems.) and it was a lovely spring-like day today, so she got out her tail poi and went spinning in the garden. No shocking new moves, but some control over the behind-the-back-past-the-ear move with the poi, and amazing overall control for someone who hasn't touched her toys for over two months. Only one hit, on the collar bone. Did knock the wind out of Saan for a bit.
So now she's banished the clattery-keyboarded pc in the kitchen (going crazy from the noise and typos as she types) and instead of pc-ing doing homework and re-reading books.
Another possible reason for the slowness of Saan's pc, apart from an overloaded hard disk, and (up until last week) never defragmenting the monster, (Denial is not just a river in Egypt and Saan's laptop is not an old piece of junk) was the fact that Saan's brother, now more than two years ago, did put anti-spyware software on it... but no anti-virus. After discovering she had something apparently controlling most important things of the pc and invisibly using IE, Saan's brother pretty much freaked. An anti-virus was installed and is still (now more than six hours later) scanning. So far, three files have been healed, 24 threats have been detected, most of them starting with 'Troian Horse'.
Saan has to keep it running by making sure the pc thinks she's still on it, otherwise it shuts down (together with the anti-virus) and restarts. It took her an hour, forty-five minutes, a full bladder and four victories of solitaire before her brother came up to see how it was going and realised that Saan didn't *have* to be behind the pc. Turning on media player and selecting a video of choice worked, too. Turn down the volume and, voila, no instant reboot, no japanese chattering on the background. If the virus scan doesn't solve the pc-domination, Saan's brother is going to look for a solution. Having their dad shout at him (for being an awful 'network manager' [Which the Saananian household needs, with its load of pcs] and not thinking of it after installing the other vital parts, like anti-spyware and an operating system) is apparently a wonderful motivator.
So, anyone reading this who has ever received a file from Saan after April 2005 might want to do a thorough scan with a decent anti-virus program. Just to be on the safe side.
This post was written on one of the anti-virus and -spyware-protected pcs, with its clatteringly loud, non-laptop keyboard, while Saan's pc was humming away in her room.
Yesterday evening, Saan's toe (she's really considering the remove-a-chunk-of-toenail-forever operation thingy. Anything to make the recurring agony stop) was nearly purple and hurt like a bitch. Now, it's slightly less purple and hurts like a bitch when you put even mild pressure on it. This morning, it felt like her body was deciding to explode the entire toe and be done with it. Saan put some ointment on it, didn't walk on it for a whole day and now it's slightly better. On the other hand, her ankle's decided to take revenge for the abuse the non-toe walk put it through and now hurts, too.
Continuing down that line of thought. Saan wanted some privacy (read: loud music without earphones) when using her pc, so she moved it to her room (god bless laptops, the devil take small hard disks). Discovery: wireless internet reaches up to about Saan's bean bag. Beyond that, there's her desk. Forcing herself herself and the pc in all kinds of kama-sutra-like positions didn't help: the internet stayed dead. Saan's solution was taking the chair, putting it at bean-bag height, against her bed, putting the laptop on, and using the pc from her bed. Now, her ribs, neck and back ache.unless she lies flat on her face, a bit of an impractical position. The more upright position feels like she's burning calories along with uninmportant things like ribs and vertebrae, though. She has to remember to put the pc away from the bed, since she tends to kick in her sleep.
Going on in the painful department, Saan has a didgeridoo workshop Wednesday afternoon. Which she's known for a few weeks already. It just got through to her this afternoon. And she's got a test on Thursday.
Next up is Saan's sudden desire for a Novello (or something laptop), since IBM gave up on the thinkpad technoglogy, which has become the only thing Saan can operate a cursor with. Apart from that, it's great minor pc-security: it takes some practice before getting the hang of the little red dot. But Saan knows next to nothing about pcs. She knows she should have a) more speed, b) 2.0 USB ports, c) preferably more USB ports than just one and d) quite a bit more than 27GB of hard disk space. Size of the screen doesn't matter all that much, as long as you can still read on it. And then there's finding a balance between it all that agrees with the balance of your average jobless teenager's savings. Which is another thing that's going to hurt.
Saan's schooldiary is one of the most deceiving objects anyone will ever come across. Apart from the cheerful holiday-pictures, cross-dressing twins, mini-game-screenshot and semi-witty sayings on the front, which give it a wholesome and non-threatening appearance, it's also stylishly understated in the proclaiming of homework, unless Saan has noticed she should really get started on it.
For example, today (well, tomorrow) it said: Geography: group project in (lay-out) Maths: Finish excercise Latin: the Usual
This is what it really said: Geography: Oi! That thing you didn't do shit for except laugh like a drowning chicken for an entire afternoon? Yeah, tomorrow D-day! Go to your pc and finish it! Maths: You don't get it and you still gotta do it. Life sucks, deal with it. Latin: Wow, lookee here, a whole twenty-or-so verses you should translate. Really, fifteen minutes work, twenty at the most. Go on, put it at the end. No pc-time until ten, I promise. Estethics: Print.
This is what happened: Geography: Saan spent an hour waiting for the file, then spent an hour fiddling with the lay-out until all links were un-underlined and black, all tab-spaces were even, all bullets were the same boring dash and the whole was a pleasantly readable font. Then there was half an hour of fiddling with the color of the WordArt of the front page until it worked. By then, someone else had gotten frustrated enough to type what had to go below it. Then she spent ten minutes wrestling the Satanic Printer-Scanner-Fax of DOOM into printing out the whole thing. Maths: Stare in confusion at the exercise for a few minutes. Press some hopeful-looking buttons on calculator. Find out the answer was 1 all along. Solve the entire excercise. Suddenly remember you only had to figure out the one. Latin: Wrestle down the heaps and heaps of papers. Translate the whole. Find out it's seven past ten.
Then she went to fill in the blog and discovered it was nearly half past ten, she had to get up real early in the morning, and she hadn't showered yet. So now she's going to get up eaven earlier in the morning to shower.
okay, so she called three hospitals before phoning the medical center the closest after Saan's hometown, where they apparently grow the neurologists on special trees. All other guys were like 'ninth of May should work', 'I've got a tiny spot for you in three weeks, lady'. The doctor's orders were: 'find a neuro-hospital-dude as fast as possible'. So now she'll be going to one this Thursday. Eek, much. But, apparently, it's not all bad. Saan can still control her right eyelid to some extent. Some people get it stuck up, and need eyedrops. Saan can close her eye--right up to the point where upper meets bottom lid. Then there's a teensie-weensie gap that dries her eye out some, making it itchy. So now Saan's constantly rubbing her eye behind her glasses, because she can't blink fully.
...Or that was about the argument that also did not work for Dylan (see kid in picture) in Daddy Daycare. Saan is beginning to understand how the kid felt, after a week of taking footbaths in the basement because natural stone tends to disagree with the stuff she has to put in the water andswallowing tablets not suitable for children under the age of three. The amount of antibiotics (875 mg, twice a day) and the size would have them killed before the day was over. Saan does not like doctors, and she does not like hospitals. They stick stuff into her, prescribe pills instead of liquid medication and once went as far as dabbing various chemicals on her arms in thick drops, and then using tiny hooks to open up the skin underneath. So now she's going to sulk about it on the internet, because she knows she'll have to go sooner or later, and tomorrow's a very good time (schoolwise) to go.
Where did all that junk come from?), more than ten hours of scanning.
