Today the hospital gods smiled on us. Footslogger was moved out of ICU and into a telemetry (sp?) wing. I gather that the main difference has to do with a lower degree of scrutiny, plus instead of being plugged into a monitor that gives constant feedback on heart rate, oxygenation rate, respiratory rate, bank balance, hair loss, armpit odor, etc. (ok, those last three are an exaggeration. But only barely.) he is plugged into a small box that transmits his heart rate to a central monitor on the wing. The nurses come in every couple of hours to check his blood pressure and oxygenation; plus they are carefully monitoring his intake and output, since he is on a drug to help him get rid of excess fluid on his lungs.
But the main part that he likes the best? He can get orange sherbet on request.
My fave? I don't have to vacate the premises between 6 and 8:30, which means that I can sit with him through dinner and leave once he starts to get sleepy. Instead of leaving at 6, coming back at 8:30 and sitting with him until 9:30. That was starting to get extremely wearying.
So tonight I went to Subway and purchased a tuna sandwich (comfort food) and as I was walking out of the store I found myself smiling giddily for the first time in a week. Really, all I want in this world is for him to be healthy. The rest means nothing.
For the first time since his heart attack, I feel certain that we are on our way there.
Why a Bad Ass?
- Dr. Bad Ass
- In 2001, I thru-hiked the Appalachian Trail and collected data for my dissertation. I had taken the trail name "Turtle" as a symbol of my desire to be persistent, to be connected to the earth, etc. After about two months of hiking (400 some odd miles), I injured my piriformis -- a big muscle in my rear -- and left the trail for a month and a half of physical therapy. Yes, on my ass. The piriformis muscle, because it was injured, banged away on my sciatic nerve, making it impossible for me to sit, stand, lie down, or simply BE without pain. Just before my completely self-sacrificing, wonderful, and ever-lovin' spouse, Footslogger, showed up in Damascus, Virginia, to collect my sad self and take me to a hospital where I could get good drugs and some rest, a couple of hiking friends (Chris and Triple Slim) stopped by the drug store, bought a little stuffed donkey, and brought it to me in a paper bag. They said, "Your trail name used to be Turtle. Now it's (drum roll, please) Bad Ass Turtle." That donkey is now sitting on my desk, as a reminder for me to be who I truly am. Not just a bad ass, but Bad Ass Turtle. Want to email me? Try badassturtle(at)gmail.
Meez
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5 comments:
Nothin' like the hospital gods and you smiling giddily all at the same time! I'm so relieved, and happy to hear your news.
Love you,
Sheri
Yay for stepping up! I'm thrilled to hear he's doing better and you're feeling positive. Here's more positive thoughts that this will all be behind you soon.
Hey, Bad Ass -
KG and I are thinking of you two lots and lots. This is indeed great news.
I'm thinking of you too...
Roxann
Get that man more sherbet! Any flavor he wants; you get some too. Be nice to yourselves and know that there are all kinds of people out here thinking of you.
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