Nursing, Not So Much

The surgery went well.  The experience was totally satisfactory.   As with any interaction with a large institution, some parts were better than others, but the patient came through alive and repaired and we were home by 2pm.

Home with a pile of medication, a stack of paperwork, and a list of instructions buried somewhere in there.  At least, I thought that there would be real instructions, written down, in an easy to follow format.  After all, that's what the dentist sent home with LiLou today.

Instead, I relied on the notes I had scribbled on the instructions, as the nurse ran through them, quickly, efficiently, but with a purpose and she was going to get there no matter what.  TBG was on the bed, ready to leave as soon as I signed the papers.  No pressure.  None.

I remembered a lot from my own surgery, and that helps me now.  I know that 1 pain pill every 3 hours - rather than 2 every 6 hours - evens out the effects, eliminating the crash at 5 hours. I know that staying hydrated -  even when you know it means a trip to the toilet - is good for healing and forces you to move - especially when it hurts even to breathe, let alone exercise in any way, manner, shape, or form.  

I understand doing it because you are not surprised that rehab hurts and that the hurt is not destructive, but creative, and then you get better and are so glad that you did that.  I have total sympathy with the emotional toll that takes.  

The toll goes both ways.  I haven't been in charge of another human since Little Cuter left home.  I'm out of practice.  Getting the medication schedule written down in an intelligible form is complicated by the overwhelming need to make him feel better..... now.

And I am not naturally a gentle person.  I do not move slowly.  These traits do not bode well for nursing.

On the other hand, I made excellent chili from scratch and corn bread from Joy of Cooking circa 1975, which resembled cement in all relevant variables.  Worrying about it from the get-go, I had the foresight to heat up the last Costco baguette.  

Dinner was at the table, in stages, as international phone calls and family phone calls and surgical pain drew people to and from the table.  The meal was ideally suited to the circumstances, if I do say so myself.  And, not surprisingly, I do.

Queen T vacuumed and Big Cuter did surfaces yesterday.  TBG and I came home to a clean house and welcoming arms and I woke up this morning able to create jello and popsicles and bring home a Whole Foods, fresh from the oven, hand tossed, personalized pizza to clean counters.  

I took on the refrigerator which was in a state of delightful chaos from the additions and cooking and drinking and snacking of our guests.  I did the dishes, twice.  I served warm, fresh, from scratch banana bread on the gold embossed Limoges dessert plates I inherited from Nannie to my family on the couch and in the easy chairs.  

We spent the night with a muted tv showing a bike race in Spain and then a Lana Turner/Zachary Scott/Spencer Tracy epic as background to a wide ranging conversation with very interesting people we love.  I can't remember the last time we stayed up past 10; it's 11 as I'm typing this and no one seems interested in sleep, even the patient.

I like this part much more than the nursing part.