When we were leaving the hospital, the nurse gave me detailed instructions on how I was to care for my husband during his very long recovery. I was already a bit lightheaded from the part earlier when I learned our insurance wasn't going to pay the entire cost and then the nurse (who was GREAT!) started talking about how I need to clean the incisions, watch for signs of breathing distress, and how to move his shoulder back in place when it goes in an awful looking brace thing, and then I started wanting to zone out. But didn't because I was too fucking nervous that I'd miss something important and disable and disfigure my husband. And also I was pissed that I have to pay and be the after care nurse and physical therapist, which was fueling me. Don't we have insurance so that when we are sick a qualified NURSE can clean our wounds? It's funny how doctors get annoyed when you go to them with a googled diagnosis before they have done any tests on you yet they expect you to rely on yourself (and google at midnight) for care as soon as the operation is over.
In the few days before my husband's operation, I went through my routine with one hand to see what would be hard for him. He is the type who will want to do things by himself as soon as he is in less pain. I replaced all squeeze containers of soaps and shampoo with pump bottles. I rearranged things on shelves so he wouldn't have to reach for them. I put drinking water in bottles with built in straws. I bought comfort food he could eat with his hands instead of needing a knife and fork. I plugged extension cords in outlets near the side of the couch his good arm will be on so he can use his iPhone and computer without too much struggling. I kept thinking about what was at (good) arm's reach.
During his operation, the nurse told me to go to Starbucks for an hour and come back instead of sitting around the entire time being nervous. I never ignore instructions to go to Starbucks. On the way back to the hospital, I stopped at home to get a bottle of Propel for Dustin to drink in the car on the way home. As I came rushing through the front door, I tripped over one of Suki's jingly bell ball toys and went flying. A damn BALL! I caught myself and was fine (and laughing and sort of crying).
I had spent so much time worrying about what was at arm's length and that didn't think about what was on the ground. I forgot about the balls.
I'm training Suki to read books in bed for fun.
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