The saga of Finleys beer belly goes on. The hospital didn’t ring, so in an elaborate act of NHS deception, I got Helen to pretend to be me and ring the consultant to find out WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON??? (She’s meaner than me!) And it worked!

We can stay at home till Monday, when we have a meeting with the consultant to agree a plan of care for our babba, do the sweat test for cystic fibrosis and get the results for the Celiacs Disease tests.  Then as long as he hasn’t lost a significant amount of weight we can go home, because the consultant agrees that Finley doesn’t eat in hospital and may get skinnier as a result, so wherever possible he will be treated as an out patient. Thank God.

He has been a little monster today. He has got me up the wall pouring me fake cups of tea and imitating my hand movements! Please don’t be fooled by the picture above. Finley is not crying, he is hiding, and two minutes after this photo was taken he beat poor little Gabriel to a pulp.

There can’t be that much wrong with him. He is as naughty as ever.

Fingers crossed please.