72 Hours

72 hours to getting out of here with the brilliant jackasses that have no common sense. I want to find out who specifically ordered the binge feeding. They will never do that again. Now we watch Jason to mAke sure he has no signs of the vomit backing up into his lungs. I am so sick and tired that I am literally sick and tired. Fever, cough, delirium. I don't have the energy or fluid to cry. I feel miserable. My phlegm is green and the want to die is amplified by my physical pain no longer fueled by just emotional. I can't sleep. I wake up every hour and fight with Carmelo about heading back to the hospital.

I can't endanger Jason. I have to stay away especially with fever. I know this and understand it but I don't want to accept it. I don't want it to be true. I'm his mother. I have to continue to be there every minute. I can't leave him with strangers. 

I want to stalk his room in a Michael Myers mask so I can know every second for certain he is ok. This unit is slower than the other. The nurse takes longer to come to the phone. I asked all the questions about his vitals and recorded the numbers. Ensured the order for his food to go back in the bag is still in effect. He has not desaturated. He is doing ok. He has a private nurse in the room with him and is being watched 24 hours (all

Of a sudden this fucking place FINALLY Listens to me!!!!!!) 

72 hours to go until we are in the home stretch. 

All good things.

The cough is echoing in my chest, the protective coating of diseased phlegm expelled violently. My head hurts. My chest hurts. My body aches. I'm mad at myself. Mad at this POS body that is sick and keeping me from Jason. I wish I could Kick myself like Malfoy did to Dobie in Harry Potter. I have to make it 72 more hours and make sure Jason stays in one piece. Jason has 72 hrs to stay good. God please help me. Prayers are actively sought and begged for.