So, yeah. The transplant team admitted Hotter to Local Teaching Hospital (where I demanded the very sweet young paramedics* take him this morning, and NOWHERE BLOODY ELSE!--it's not as convenient to Casa MFA as two or three other hospitals are, but it's also the only transplant facility within an hour of here) and worked him up and the official verdict is that apparently someone took "low potassium" to mean "eat three Snickers ice-cream bars before bed on the downlow," and now has high potassium and a Dilaudid-grade tummy-ache.
Bless his heart.
Yes, I say that as an atheist, but also as a lifelong Southerner, and when old Southern ladies can't think what else to say about a loved one that's what they say. The past two weeks have aged me a lot.
* Oh yes, I have apparently skipped grown-up and gone straight to old because whereas five years ago I would've looked at these same paramedics and thought "why aren't you in school you whippersnapper!" because they would've been jailbait, and two years ago I would've been like "Oooh!" and checked out their arses, this morning I thought "aw, what sweet young kids" when I saw them, in uniform no less. Probably they were within five years of my age, but I'm sorry, anyone in the medical field who isn't at least five years older than I am makes wonder if we shouldn't ask a grown-up to handle this.