Patience Needed

Yesterday, the surgeon said he would write the discharge note around 9 am.  But it is 10:30 now and no note, no surgeon has appeared, so perhaps he is out saving someone's life or doing something else of some social value, or perhaps not and just has had the kind of morning where it was hard to get going.

By contrast, I got here in the dark this morning, sad to see that the cars in the parking lot were all rimed with frost.  The effect of said frost on the blossoms of the cherry trees which are all in bloom was not possible to assess at that moment, though now, 4 hours later, they look okay.  So perhaps they are heartier than they look.

Ed is doing okay this morning; eating better than yesterday, but still mostly eating softish things.  Applesauce heads the top two favorites with soda crackers coming in third after water in the #2 position.  He's walked around a good bit, done his 'inspirometer' exercises (wouldn't you think just 'spirometer' would be adequate?  I mean, to what extend does in 'inspire'?), consumed the applesauce, submitted to my brushing his hair, read his email, washed his face, blablabla.  His pain levels are minimal.  He's less groggy.  He thinks he's ready to go home (which he didn't think yesterday); I think so.  So maybe we will go home, although before that can happen there's, I assume, some rigamarole involved in getting out of the hospital (paperwork? medications? prescription?s...once we get up to the Point, Ed is 2.5 hours away from getting anything from a pharmacy since the Canadian drugstores over the border don't fill U.S. doctor prescriptions.  One more thing to discover about workability.

The night nurse, last night, was Lindsay, the nurse who keeps her promises to the minute.  She has a very orderly manner about her, a kind of 'can-do' that might be hard for people feeling more fragile, but we find her just right (in the Goldilocks/3 Bear sense).  Maybe she adjusts her projection for the more fragile; have no way of knowing, but Ed was happy to have her on last night, trusting that she would see to the pain med injection, which she did.  This morning she offered him camomile tea as an 'old wives' cure for hiccoughing.  Despite all our desires to trust the old wives, it didn't work and he is still hiccoughing more often than not.  Blogspot says that's misspelled, but I don't know what else to try.

The lady/statue at the end of the hall lost her bowl of red tulips overnight, somehow.  Perhaps some other lady/statue has them this morning.  And, for all the patience I have learned over the past 73 years, it is always comforting to know that the opportunity to acquire even more skill in this area continues to arise.