I don’t like doing sequels and remakes. They are never as good as the first. Remember Jaws? The first one was good. Then, “Jaws Eats a Helicopter” You really don’t need to see that one.
Didn’t they make about a hundred Harry Potter’s? How good can they be? Ivy took me to Harry Potter #1. I fell asleep and haven’t been to the theater since.
They tell me you can sit in recliners and drink alcoholic beverages at the theater. Are they just begging me to take a nap? Does that make sense to you?
Anyway, I guess I need to provide an update to last week’s story.
I am still out of the hospital, although I return every (construction language) day at 5:00 PM. I received a couple bags of antibiotics through the “pickline” in my arm/chest. I am being attended to by what I am guessing is the very best nurse in the world. Please, every nurse has been great, but this one is an angel.
She has a name, but I don’t use names here, so I will call her Angel. Angel pats my hand, when I am finished with my IV bags. Not in a condescending way, but in an “everything is going to be okay" way. If I have a question, Angel brings in the person to answer it, immediately. Angel makes sure I have coffee, with cream, and my recliner is in the correct position. Angel insists the tech take my blood pressure readings on my ankle because my arm has been stuck with every kind of needle known to man. One upper arm has a “pickline”, the other hurts like (construction language).
Unfortunately, (for me) Angel cannot work every day. When you are as thorough as Angel, you need your rest.
On Angel’s day off, I was left in the care of Not Angel. Out of the fifteen empty rooms that were available, Not Angel put me in a room divided by a curtain. On the far side of the curtain someone was getting treatment. This person (she) was watching television will she was getting their IV. She was watching Supreme Court hearings.
OK, I’m as political as anyone, but I’m there to save a foot; my foot. I had a television on my side of the curtain. I turned it on, loud and then even louder. I was watching one of those shows where the pretty people build/remodel houses. (Did you know, Elaine doesn’t like granite countertops? Sheez, is she dated!)
Not Angel came in to take my blood pressure. She told me it was high. I was thinking, “I am in a room with a curtain, no coffee, my recliner is not correct and the woman behind the curtain couldn’t give a (construction language) about my foot.” I told Not Angel, “I see the doc tomorrow.”
My podiatrist (I never thought I would say that.) told me the splinter/thorn never got to the lab. Seems one of the nurses threw it away. We are fighting the infection from blood tests without help from the splinter/thorn. I guess we are still winning.
Elaine has been sticking gauze into my wound every day to insure the wound heals from the inside and not just scab over. (Sorry, didn’t mean to be graphic, I just miss Angel.) Elaine pats my foot when she is finished changing my dressing. I love her. It looks like the treatment will last another week minimum.
Maybe next week the twins will do something funny.
Our crazy lives!