thomas update – tuesday

Today his blood pressure was running more toward normal – 132/76, which, well, is more normal for me and for him than what it was running. Yesterday (Monday), for example, it was 107/53. However, his creatinine level just seems to keep getting higher. This morning it was 9.2. We found out yesterday morning that his total kidney function (all he has is his transplant, for those who don’t know) is down to 9%.

We thought we were going to get the results of yesterday’s biopsy back this morning, and the medical team was certain we’d have them by noon, so we could all sit down together and make some kind of plan that afternoon. The results finally came in somewhere around 5 or 5:30. He’s still in acute rejection, just like he was when he left the hospital back this time in October.

I had to leave at 7:15, and they were getting ready to start him on his first round of Salu-Medrol. This is the drug I was talking about on Halloween, the one that Dr Hundley said we could try but may not do anything more than a sugar pill at this point. Also, I waited as late as I could, but they were supposed to come in some time tonight and start the vein-mapping for the fistula insertion. So when I go in in the morning, it may already be inserted or may be ready to insert. I don’t know yet. I’ve not talked to Thomas – and as soon as I finish this post, I’m going to bed.

As always, Dr Hundley laid it all out on the table. Someone in the room – I don’t know who; I was surrounded by undiluted Dillon from 10am until 5pm – asked if there was any alternative to dialysis at this point. After I snorted – because he and Thomas and I have had this discussion many times since September 15th, and we know – Dr Hundley said, “It’s dialysis or death. It’s Thomas’ choice at this point. That kidney might last two to three months, or it might last six months to a year without dialysis. But without any medication and without dialysis, it might last two to three months.”

So, my plan is to meet with me and Molly and Thomas tomorrow and see what we can do about planning a living will and all that other happy stuff. Thomas is over 18, everything is his decision, and everything should be his decision. At this point, anyone/the state getting guardianship would be a pointless act, a waste of time. By the time everything went through the courts, Thomas may or may not be here any more. That kind of thing takes six months to a year. And even then, there’s no guarantee that guardianship will/can/should be appointed at the end of it all. So unlike the Dillons, I’d rather sit down in a calm, peaceful manner, explain everything to Thomas so that he really understands what’s going on, and then present him with the appropriate paperwork and see that he gets help filling it out and getting it properly filed. I think everything about this should be his decision. I know I would want it to be mine.

More news as I get it. As always, I’ll be tweeting from the bedside at the hospital.

thomas update – sunday

Well, somehow Eddie had a conversation with Thomas last night and convinced him that he needed to come on today and admit himself into the hospital, that he’d made a mistake by not doing that on Monday when he should have. So Eddie drove up from Cumberland County and brought him to the ER and UK, and I met them there. We explained that the transplant team had wanted him admitted on Monday morning, but that Thomas was scared or upset, or both, or something and signed the AMA and went home – and then Eddie calling last night, etc, etc, and boom, there we were.

Eddie couldn’t stay for personal, family reasons, but that was fine. He got Thomas up here, and that’s what counts the most, I think.

And the doctor intern came in and talked to us, then the ER doctor-doctor (who was the same doctor who took care of me in January and who asked me how I was doing now LOLOL), then one of the transplant team came down. Then another of the transplant team, the one on call, came down – and it was the doctor who’d wanted to admit him Monday morning – Dr Hundley – so that was good. While all this was going on and going back and forth, they drew copious tubes of blood, took Thomas’ vitals (and gave them back), had him pee in a cup, you know all the usual stuff. I wasn’t there when they got his blood pressure or his weight, so I can’t record that, yet.

Thomas said he was hungry, so they ordered him something to eat.

And while we were waiting for that to come, the ER doctor came back in and said that Thomas’ creatinine level had almost doubled since Monday morning – Monday morning it was 4.8.

And by then it was time for me to walk out – the ER is a maze and massive – and go to the restroom, and walk back around to the lobby – the new UK Hospital is a maze and massive – and down the long corridor and up the street to the bus stop. I had to get on the 8:06 bus so I could get home; Lextran stops running on Sundays at 9pm. No choice but leave unless I’d wanted to spend the night in the hospital, which I don’t want and wasn’t prepared for.

I hadn’t even gotten halfway down the long corridor when my phone went off with Thomas’ ringtone. I thought maybe I’d left something or he needed something real quick before I got gone. No, he said, “Mom, you should have stayed five more minutes.” I said, “Why? Is something wrong?” He said, “Yes. I’ve lost my transplant. I don’t understand real well what the doctor said, but I lost it.” Well, in this part of the hospital, there are benches built into the walls, and thank the gods, but I was right around the corner from the chapel, which was empty, and I went in and sat down. He said, “They said there’s no chance in saving it this time, so I don’t know what’s going to happen.” I said, “Thomas, yes you do. This means you’re going to have to go on dialysis for the rest of your life. You can live without kidneys, but you’ll have to go to dialysis.” He said, “I don’t know what that means.” So I explained it to him and told him to ask his medical team; they could explain it more. He said, “Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit.” And all I could think was, You knew this was coming. You’ve known that this was what was going to happen if you didn’t take care of yourself, and now it’s too late to do anything about it.

I asked him, I said, “Thomas, do you need me to run back to the desk and tell them you’d like to speak to a counselor or the chaplain or something?” He said, “No, I’m okay right now.” But we were both crying and totally not okay. I asked if he was sure. He said, “Mom, just let me handle this right now. We’ll figure the rest out in the morning.” I said, “I’ll leave my phone on all night, so you call if you need me.” I told him I couldn’t rush down there before 6am (that’s the first bus inbound), but if nothing else, like Kathy said when I called her later, we can sit on the opposite end of the phone and listen to each other breathe for company if it comes to that.

So that’s where it is right now. We’ve called just a very few people. Because there’s no news, really, to give anybody. I’ll know more in the morning after I get there and see his medical team and stuff. Jane is coming up from Liberty at lunch tomorrow. Right now, Thomas is talking to people and friends and family on the phone, which is good, and I’m glad of that (he’s been making and taking calls; so that’s good).

I’m going to spend as much times as I can at the hospital tomorrow. I’m broke as a church mouse, but I’m taking a pocketful of change and some snacks out of the pantry. I’ll be able to be reached by text on my phone – but it’s not a smartphone, so I can’t surf and stuff like that. I can’t respond to facebook or to twitter – although I can send out tweets to Twitter, I can’t answer them. My phone makes and takes calls and makes and takes texts and takes and makes and sends pictures and videos, but that’s all it’s capable of. No internet. No apps. No nothing like that. But I know I’ll be sending tweets just like I have every other time he’s been in the hospital – I just won’t be able to respond to them until I get home tomorrow night, or whenever.

I’ll post/tweet when I can, as I can.

thomas went to clinic today

Thomas went to the transplant clinic at UK Hospital today, and the news wasn’t good. None of us expected it to be, either. But it’s still depressing.

He looks bad. He’s lost more weight. His skin is dry and patchy. He shakes like an old man. And where he’s off his Celexa and Abilify, he’s moody as all hell and talks on and on like someone’s wound up a windup key in his back. His blood pressure was 173/73. His creatinine level was back up to 4.3.

The medical team wanted to keep him, admit him to the hospital. He flat out refused. The doctor even offered for him to come back in the morning or Wednesday morning. But he still refused. So he goes back on the 7th for another checkup. He walked out of the clinic at one point but came back later when he realized I hadn’t gone after him.

What the medical team want to do is try another anti-rejection drug and then do another biopsy on the transplant. They’ve made it abundantly clear that this may or may not do anything. But I said it’s worth a shot. If it were me, I’d do it. Thomas said it’s not anybody but him, and he doesn’t want to do it. He said, “I’m done. I’m just done.”

We all talked about dialysis, again, but he said he didn’t want that either. The medical team explained that’s exactly where he’s headed – if he makes it that far. He said he didn’t care.

They had him sign the “leaving the clinic against advice” form before we left. They also said that if he changes his mind between now and Monday that he can always come pick me up and go to the emergency room – he can be admitted straight from there.

So this is where we are right now.

thomas news – thursday october 20

The current news on Thomas isn’t good, but we new it wasn’t going to be. His clinic appointment didn’t go well Monday, and Thomas didn’t really seem to care. It’s almost like he’s built himself an alternate reality to live in – which isn’t good. The doctor said his creatinine had actually dropped from 3.1, which is where it was when he left the hospital, to 2.3. But the doctor also said that it could very well be that low because of the amount and strength of the Prednisone he was on in the hospital. He said this because no trace of medications came back in Thomas’ blood or urine. Again. Even though Thomas sat right there in the clinic and told anybody who’d listen that he’s not drinking alcohol, he’s eating right, and he’s taking all of his medications like he’s supposed to. They’re going to see him every other week for now; the doctor alluded that if Thomas isn’t going to take care of himself, then there’s no point in him coming up here once a week for a clinic visit.

Everyone keeps asking me how I’m doing. I just feel like I’ve been on an endless roller coaster ride – up, down, around, over, through. I was angry at first, when the doctor gave us the news of Thomas’ life expectancy that Monday morning while he was still in the hospital. See, this is why receiving a living transplant is so important. When someone receives a cadaveric transplant, that recipient’s life expectancy is automatically cut in half. Depending on the age of a living donor, a living transplant can last the recipient a full lifetime. You all know I wanted to give Thomas one of my kidneys and was turned down after all the testing because I’m not insured. Because of the way Thomas has treated himself over the last year, with all the news that’s come down the pike over the last month, I’ve been glad he didn’t get one of my kidneys – and then I feel horrible for feeling like that, for thinking such a thing. Thomas received a cadaveric transplant thanks to my lack of insurance. The young man who died and whose family donated everything that was possible to donate saved a bunch of children and blessed a lot of families. He was, if I’m remembering right, twenty-three years old when he died. We know he was in near-perfect health.

I saw my therapist on Friday the 1st, and we discussed my ADD/ADHD issues. With the Prozac and the other antidepressants calming me out, the ADD/ADHD was running loose and wild and making me do stupid things. Seriously. When I don’t stick to a pat routine, I do stupid shit. Like the morning I jumped the gun on putting a pantyliner in my panties – and got the process mixed up with putting on my socks and stuck the pantyliner on the bottom of my left foot. And, the way my brain works, I sat there staring at the bottom of my foot for several minutes trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. I told my therapist I have moments when I feel spastic but don’t allow myself to go spastic – I try to keep myself in control of myself, even when I’m alone. There’s other stuff I’ve done, too, physical and vocal, and we discussed all that, too. We were almost rolling in the floor laughing by the time I finished, and she made up her mind to put me on the lowest dose of Ritalin. 10mg twice a day. The first few days, I was a bit jittery, but nothing horrible, and I waded through it. And now I’m just fine on it. I tell people, “I can almost brain proper.” (Being able to make sense of the noise in my head goes a long way!)

The Monday we got all this wonderful news (the 3rd) – that Thomas’ expected lifespan had been cut down even further because he’s not been taking care of himself, that his creatinine level was probably permanently stuck at 3.1 (never come down but possibly go further up) for what time he does have left – I was angry, like I said before. Just angry. When I left the hospital, I stopped at the arboretum to take a walk. I needed to be outside, moving, and the weather that day was gorgeous. The kind of weather I wish we could have in Kentucky year-round. If I’d gone straight home, I think I would have just sat here and exploded. I had to get my head put back on right before I went any further. I called the therapy clinic to see if I could get an appointment with my therapist, but she was booked solid through to my next appointment (the 27th), so I decided to tough it out and wait, see what conclusions I could come to on my own. Besides, it wasn’t an emergency situation – all I wanted and needed was someone to look at me and tell me that what I was feeling was normal. it’s hard for that clinic to do a work in with me because I have to have at least two hours’ notice, because I have to take the bus over there. They can’t call me at 9 and tell me they have an opening at 9:30 and can I be there. By the next morning, I’d figured out I had no idea who or what I was angry at, and I told myself it was stupid to be angry without someone or something to be angry at.

I guess you could say I ‘simmered’ over the next two weeks. I don’t really know how else to describe it. I just know that I had to calm myself down and took it in stages. And I scrubbed our apartment. Ceiling to floor. One cobweb survived, and it’s still there because I never can remember to get it down when I’m up. The apartment got so scrubbed that there’s not much I’ve had to do to it this week, but I’ve done it all anyway. It’s driven Miss Kitty even further nuts; she can’t handle anything around her changing much at all. Through it all, I keep hearing Thomas saying it’s his life to live how he wants to live it and he’s going to do what he wants to do and if he lives, he lives and if he dies, he dies. Sticking your fingers in your ears and screaming, “LA LA LA LA LA!” doesn’t work, no matter how much any of us ever want it to or pretend it does. Closing your eyes and clamping your hands over them and screaming, “Not real!” over and over doesn’t work, either.

This past Monday, the 17th, Thomas sat right there in the transplant clinic and told anybody who would listen to him that he’d been taking care of himself right. That he’d been taking all of his medications on schedule, as scheduled, that he’d been eating right and otherwise taking care of himself like he was supposed to. He said he hadn’t been drinking and hadn’t been partying, etc and so forth. He said all this before and after he’d gotten his blood drawn, peed in a cup, had been weighed, gotten his temperature taken, had his blood pressure checked. His weight hadn’t changed, his temperature was normal, and his blood pressure was near usual – through the roof. His doctor asked him, “Have you been taking your medicines?” And he looked his doctor right in the face and said, “Yeah, I mean, no. I mean, I wasn’t before, but I am now. Every day, just like I’m supposed to,” and smiled that smile he’s smiled since he learned how to smile – the smile he uses to slay people with. The doctor looked at me as if I could confirm or deny, and all I could do was roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders. He told Thomas to come back in two weeks.

Then Kathy called while I was out seeing my eye doctor on Tuesday, and I didn’t get her voicemail until I got home – although I got her text messages on my way to Kentucky Clinic. Problem is, on the way home, my eyes were dilated, and I couldn’t see to use my phone in any way. Preston called me at one point, and I finagled around until I was able to answer it. Honestly, I’m proud of myself for navigating the buses and finding my way back to our apartment. For the record, I’m still blind and don’t have to go back again until April, probably to find out the same thing again. My eye doctor upped my Elavil prescription from 25mg to 50mg to see if that would help calm or settle the whooshing and throbbing noises in my head; it’s supposed to help me sleep, too; if it does help with the sleep bit, then maybe I can drop the Trazadone. I tried dropping the Trazadone when I first started on the Elavil in the spring, but my mind kept going at mach 10, so it was obvious I needed it to wind down enough to sleep.

So Kathy tells me when I talk to her that the female transplant doctor had called her, and Thomas’ creatinine level was down to 2.3, after all of us thinking it would never drop below 3 again in his lifetime. But she said it was probably that low due to the amount and the timing of the Prednisone they had given him in the hospital. Also, his blood and urine didn’t show any traces whatsoever of any medications. Again. That along with his unwillingness to take care of himself spurred the decision to see him once every other week for now. He goes back on Halloween. Kathy also said that Thomas has been going around telling everyone he’s perfectly healthy and can do whatever he wants whenever he wants and can drink all the alcohol he wants. I’d like to know when the doctor told him that because he and Dr Gedaly were never alone together this past Monday. If this keeps up, he’ll be put on dialysis. He’s not going to like being forced to sit and lay still for four hours a day, three days every week. He’s already told me it sounds like hell. I still am of the opinion that he should have toured the children’s dialysis ward at Cincinnati Children’s before his transplant; Jane was wrong in turning that down. Jane was wrong about a lot of things, but that’s a whole other blog post, or twelve.

Now I feel like we’ve all just come back to where we were in July 2007, when Thomas was so sick and every time the phone rang I had a panic attack because I knew there would be bad news on the other end of the line and I had nightmares about funerals. And at the end of last week, I’d come to some kind of strange acceptance to the situation, to Thomas’ attitude. I’m still struggling to figure out where the whole, “If I’m going to die, I’m going to die my way” attitude has come from. But it’s an attitude I have, too, when I sat down and really thought about it. I’ve said for years that if I’m ever in the hospital and am told I won’t ever be going back home, then I’m chowing down on a shrimp platter. I also have a living will; I think that’s important. I also think we all have a right to go out the way we want to. And maybe that’s where Thomas’ head is. I just don’t know.

Here’s the thing. Thomas may have the mentality of someone somewhere between nine and fourteen years old. But he can look at you and tell you exactly what medications he’s supposed to take, what dosage, what quantity, and how often. He can tell you exactly what he’s supposed to do and not do to take care of himself. Yet right now he’s just refusing to do any of it. I’ve long said that he needs a full-time, around the clock caregiver (he doesn’t want one; he’s refused one; he’s refused part time help; he’s refused any help). But apparently even an around the clock caregiver doesn’t work, because he’s learned how to be sneaky. I can’t explain how I felt that afternoon when I dumped all his medication bottles on my bed to sort through them and realized that some of them went all the way back to December of last year. He was still here with me then – he didn’t move out until the end of March. There weren’t any bottles for the month of April, and I think I remember Kathy saying she can only figure that he took his meds that month or that he had so many that she just never ordered any for April. But he had almost full kits for the end of December 2010 through the end of September 2011 (minus April). I wanted to cry. I was angry. I was pissed. I was sick to my stomach. I mean, here he had lived in my apartment and had gone into the kitchen twice every day to take his medications. It took me a while to figure out that he was going into the kitchen, rattling around in the cabinet, and getting a drink of water – nothing else. Apparently he’d done the same thing at Kathy’s when he lived there (end of March through the end of June).

The day he was admitted into the hospital, he told the doctor, before she went to get his room, “It’s my life, and I’m going to live if the way I want to, and if I live, I live, and if I die, I die.” And then he sat there on the bed after he was admitted and just blurted out, “I don’t matter, anyway. Everybody loves Tayler more than they do me. He always gets more than I do. He always has. Nobody loves me.” Out of thin air. No preamble. He just said it. And I couldn’t do anything but just sit there and listen. Every now and then he’d burst out with more on the same theme. And he didn’t care if he was in the room alone, or if I was in there, or if a nurse or three were in there, or what. He just kept right on going. Nobody dared tell him he was over 18 and could sign himself out and leave if he really wanted to. As the day wore on, though, I did tell him that if he was going to continue to treat me like shit, that I could leave and I didn’t have to go back. In fact, that’s something I found myself repeating several times through the course of his hospital stay. And I didn’t just say it, either. If he started acting like a jerk and treating me like shit, I’d at least get up and to out into the hall or out to the waiting room. Sometimes I’d ride the elevator down to the lobby and back to the eighth floor. One afternoon Kathy and I both were there when he started his crap, and I said my bit and got to my feet. He’d changed his attitude by the time I got to the door.

But it’s like he’s got it into his head that he doesn’t have anything to live for, that he never has, and that if he’s going to die no matter what he does, then what’s the point of doing anything but living what life he does have. Like I said, I can kind of understand the attitude. I really can. If someone told me my life was being cut short, I’d do what I could to make the most of what I had left. And I feel like that’s what he’s doing. Tayler says, “He’s being a dumb ass,” and in ways, yes, Thomas is. At the same time, Thomas is in his own mind and in his own way doing what he thinks is the best thing for him.

Kathy’s found several alcohol purchases on his checking account. But like I told her, if anybody asks him about them, he’ll just say that he was buying for “a friend”. His 22nd birthday is coming up on the 28th, and he told me he and his friends have a big party planned. He said, “It’s nothing. Just pop and cake.” And I just bit the inside of my mouth.

So I guess we’ll see what we find out at his next transplant clinic appointment. Probably just more of the same. That’s what I expect. And from here, I expect for things to get nothing but worse.

thomas news – monday october 10

Monday, October 3:

I met with Thomas’ medical team and his psychiatric team this morning. They basically told me there’s not much of anything anybody can do to help Thomas after he leaves the hospital other than keep impressing upon him that he’s got to take care of himself.

His main doctor this morning told us both (me and Thomas) that his best case scenario right now is leaving the hospital Friday or Saturday, but at most IF he takes care of himself, he’s probably looking at another 15 to 17 years of life. And they flat out told him that due to how he’s treated himself, he’s not a candidate for another transplant. Right now the Thymoglobulin is and isn’t helping – his creatinine hasn’t changed from 2.8 since Saturday, so they’re going to keep him in the hospital until Friday or Saturday at the least.

After that, he’ll be going home alone to his apartment in Mt Vernon.

I also spoke with a social worker, and she spoke with Thomas about assisted housing when he leaves UK, but he flat out refused to go that route.

Today, Monday October 10:

Thomas came up for a clinic appointment this morning. He looks bad. He weighs 155#, so he’s lost more weight. His blood pressure was 168/94. His creatinine had gone back up to 3.2, and the potassium in his urine was low again.

His medical team isn’t very happy, and neither am I.

He turned a nice shade of pale when his main nephrologist was delivering all this happy news.

He was wearing the same clothes he was wearing after he took a shower here Thursday, and when I asked him where his folder with his medicine list was so we could give it to the nurse, he said he didn’t know where it was – probably lost somewhere in the back of his car.

I don’t know.

I mean, we knew the news going into and out of the hospital wasn’t going to be good news. But if he just refuses to take care of himself, there’s not a whole lot anybody else can do for him.

So that’s where we are – he’s still in acute transplant rejection. She wants him in clinic once a week for a while, then she’s going to taper him off.

thomas news – thursday

They started the Thymoglobulin yesterday afternoon. His creatinine dropped down to 5.7. But he’s still going to be in there until at least next Friday (the 7th).

I spoke with his medical team today about his unwillingness / lack of desire to take care of himself, and while I was on my way out to come home for a nap, a psychiatrist was on his way in to see him. So we’ll see what happens there.

thomas update – wednesday afternoon

I was there when the doctor came in this afternoon when Thomas’ tests came back. The news, as we expected, wasn’t good.

He’s experiencing two types of rejection – I didn’t retain what they were called, and I tried googling when I got home, but I can’t find them (my Google-fu is weak). So the doctor is giving him an anti-rejection drip along with a steroid. The drip takes eight hours to drip – it has to be injected very slowly. It’s the same drip he had in April 2008. And the doctor said that sometimes when a transplant recipient has had this medication before, the body often builds up antibodies, and the medication won’t work a second time. He said after a couple of days, they’ll take him back down to ultrasound and do another scan and biopsy to see if the medication is doing anything. He also said Thomas’ creatinine had gone up from 6.5 to 7.0 since Monday morning. So it’s steadily increased instead of decreasing. That’s not a good sign by itself. He said if the biopsy comes back negative again, then Thomas will have to go on dialysis. Right now, then, it’s completely up in the air as to when he’ll be getting to go home.

Also, last night when I came in from the hospital, I found packages of his medications in his car – unopened still stapled shut from the pharmacy. I’m taking them with me when we go back to see him here in a few minutes. He’s not going to know I’ve got them, but his medical team will. I mean, we all know he’s not been taking his meds, but here’s hard physical proof that he sat there and lied to his doctor all this time.

So that’s what we know right now. As soon as we know anything else, I’ll post another blog – just be sure to keep a watch out on Twitter and Facebook, too. And thanks for all of your help, prayers, and other support. We appreciate all of you!

I’ve had a lot of people ask if they can help in any way at all. The biggest help right now would be prayers – lots of prayer – and some spare cash. I have Thomas’ car right now – so that means I’ve paid for parking today and will have to every day he’s in the hospital (I found out I can buy a weekly parking pass for unlimited parking/use for $20. I can renew it twice. After that it’s free.). Also, I have to have money to eat on while I’m there (a light lunch ~$8) and money for gas – I know I don’t normally drive, but Kathy said I’m welcome to Thomas’ car (which she bought) while he’s in the hospital. I hate to beg but if anyone is willing to help out with anything, then PayPal me at mari @ (without the spaces) ~~ and thank you. And, on the sidebar, on the bottom right, there’s a PayPal donations button if that might simplify things for folks.

Gift shop
Located in the hospital lobby on the first floor, the gift shop sells various personal care items, reading materials, candy and gifts. You may also purchase gift baskets, University of Kentucky merchandise, flower arrangements and stuffed toys by phone. Volunteers will deliver the gifts to UK Chandler Hospital, Kentucky Children’s Hospital and Markey Cancer Center patients. The gift shop accepts cash, Visa and MasterCard and can deliver Monday – Friday, 10 a.m. – 4:30 p.m. Call 859-323-5797 for more information.

Monday – Friday: 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.
Saturday: 10:30 a.m. to 6 p.m.
Sunday: 1 – 5 p.m.

eGreetings delivery
You can send an e-mail greeting to a patient at UK Chandler Hospital, Kentucky Children’s Hospital or Markey Cancer Center. The Volunteer Office delivers eGreetings to patient rooms Monday through Friday.

We cannot forward eGreetings received after the patient has been discharged, so they will be safely discarded. If you have questions about eGreetings delivery, please call the Volunteer Office at 859-323-6023 Monday through Friday, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. (you have to have his full name, his hometown, and his room number)

(email me for his personal information!)