And I shall thcweam and thcweam and thcweam until I am thick

The breakfast trolley missed our room this morning. Little Fish was
not impressed. Happily, a nurse made her some toast, which turned her
grumbles into this.

Meanwhile we are on the move to the ward next door. Except we might
not be. And then we definitely are, and so I pack our lives into our
bags. And now we aren't again as someone from picu has moved instead.
Except we may move at bedtime. Not wonderful for a child who wants to
know exactly what's happening all the time, but hey ho.

LF continues to run a temperature, although her bloods have come back
clear. She's possibly having a problem with her wee but hopefully a
blip rather than an issue. Her biggest stress this morning was not the
cathing, not the rolling, not the cleaning and washing and forced
removal of the manky upsy daisy pyjama top she's been welded to since
Friday, not even the missing breakfast (although that came a close
second), but the evil hairbrushing torture. If that's the worst thing
we've done to her in the past few days I think she's not that badly
done by! Sadly she did indeed scream herself sick so has now lost the
toast she sobbed so hard for earlier...

Tia