Feb. 12th, 2015 09:56 pm
Floor whore
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muckefuckToday was supposed to be ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu's last day in the hospital. It was not. Hopefully, though, it will end up being his last full day. We're supposedly slated for a morning release, but I've heard those words before and they proved to be lies. Still, the thought was enough to cause me to see the floor with new eyes. For once I felt like a guest rather than a semi-resident. I even went to the front desk for a pass (something I've been giving a miss lately). And I breezed past the nurses as if they were simply faceless workers rather than women I all knew by name.
I reached the room just in time for my appointment with the home health care coordinator, who was less informative than I'd hoped. Still, she was worlds better than the shill for the senior care franchise who came in next. "We'll think about it and call you," just didn't seem to be good enough--even though I was visibly checking my phone the whole time since any minute Nuphy was due to arrive from the South Side and I needed to rendezvous with him to pass over the housekeys in time for him to beat the delivery service to the house.
After they left, I breathed a sigh. But I'd missed the surgical team and Nuphy, exhausted from his PT, was crashing again. So I didn't have much to occupy me until I became aware of a commotion in the hall. The scruffy bear dude with the hornrims looked like an ordinary visitor until I noticed the big old camera he was toting around. Finally, he paused between shots, and I engaged him in conversation. He thought the staged photos of real doctors chatting was for a website of some sort. Eventually, I got chummy enough to ask him if I could try on his glasses to see how the frames looked on me. (Partly I think that was the effects of the indomethacin I'd just taken for my gout. I forgot how strong that stuff is!) When I asked if I could take a picture of him taking pictures, he was like, "Sure!"
After that, it was the usual tedious struggle for scraps of information and small comforts. The only thing the GWO really liked from his midday meal was the soda. I went to the Canteen of Ultimate Sadness, but all they had was diet. The nurse had invited me before to come to her with his special requests, but it proved hard to buttonhole her and it took two calls to the kitchen to get the cans delivered. That was a cakewalk compared to getting any discharge information. I only got the official word they were keeping another night around 5:10 and only because I found the nurse practitioner (or, as we call her, "Witch Hands") and asked. By that time the Old Man had already surrendered to the inevitable and only wanted to sleep.
monshu's last day in the hospital. It was not. Hopefully, though, it will end up being his last full day. We're supposedly slated for a morning release, but I've heard those words before and they proved to be lies. Still, the thought was enough to cause me to see the floor with new eyes. For once I felt like a guest rather than a semi-resident. I even went to the front desk for a pass (something I've been giving a miss lately). And I breezed past the nurses as if they were simply faceless workers rather than women I all knew by name.I reached the room just in time for my appointment with the home health care coordinator, who was less informative than I'd hoped. Still, she was worlds better than the shill for the senior care franchise who came in next. "We'll think about it and call you," just didn't seem to be good enough--even though I was visibly checking my phone the whole time since any minute Nuphy was due to arrive from the South Side and I needed to rendezvous with him to pass over the housekeys in time for him to beat the delivery service to the house.
After they left, I breathed a sigh. But I'd missed the surgical team and Nuphy, exhausted from his PT, was crashing again. So I didn't have much to occupy me until I became aware of a commotion in the hall. The scruffy bear dude with the hornrims looked like an ordinary visitor until I noticed the big old camera he was toting around. Finally, he paused between shots, and I engaged him in conversation. He thought the staged photos of real doctors chatting was for a website of some sort. Eventually, I got chummy enough to ask him if I could try on his glasses to see how the frames looked on me. (Partly I think that was the effects of the indomethacin I'd just taken for my gout. I forgot how strong that stuff is!) When I asked if I could take a picture of him taking pictures, he was like, "Sure!"
After that, it was the usual tedious struggle for scraps of information and small comforts. The only thing the GWO really liked from his midday meal was the soda. I went to the Canteen of Ultimate Sadness, but all they had was diet. The nurse had invited me before to come to her with his special requests, but it proved hard to buttonhole her and it took two calls to the kitchen to get the cans delivered. That was a cakewalk compared to getting any discharge information. I only got the official word they were keeping another night around 5:10 and only because I found the nurse practitioner (or, as we call her, "Witch Hands") and asked. By that time the Old Man had already surrendered to the inevitable and only wanted to sleep.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject