I’ve been absent of late, living a drama probably played out on television in some shape or form. For those who have been following me, I apologize and hope you’ve been patient waiting for my next post.
You see, my husband had to have surgery and let’s face it, it wasn’t pretty. Part of his stomach went away for good. Fortunately, he’s going to be okay.
It wasn’t totally easy stuff. His heart wouldn’t wake up after the surgery and as a result, he was participating in time-travelling maneuvers to the Land of Nod. There he lay, on the bed in the recovery room, passing in and out of consciousness, aware that I stood next to him. I kept shaking him, willing him to join me in the here and now, and he rapidly fell back into unconsciousness. His heart rate dipped as low as 32. Not far from him, there was a patient facing an alternate reality, having been loosened from the grip of anesthesia. That one kept hooting, over and over, while thrashing about. As is generally the case, the recovery room was a tad short-handed. Our nurse, who was wonderful, flew back and forth between my nearly comatose husband and the flailing man. Finally, she added a wonder drug to Andrew’s drip and like magic, perked up fairly quickly, and his heart rate maintained a respectable 80.
A morbidly obese nurse stationed at the desk checked over her records to determine if a room had been assigned for my respectably-alert husband. I thought to myself how is it that that nurse developed such a condition when all the nurses around her flew like the wind. She called over Andrew’s attending nurse, who announced to us his room was ready.
Mercifully, Andrew was wheeled out shortly thereafter, leaving the hooter to his own particular recovery fate. I hope it wasn’t serious, whatever afflicted him, because if that was his natural state, his caregivers were in for it.
We totally scored with the room. It was on the end, the bed was out of sight of the door, and as luck would have it, Andrew’d be its only occupant. Totally private. I welcomed that, since he was kind of miserable. “Say, look” I said, “There’s the TV. Let’s see what’s on, eh?” I flick on the TV and flip through the channels. Well, thank GOD they have BBC America AND Syfy! The surgery’s timing allowed us to catch a bit of Dr. Who, and later, we switched over to catch the Helix marathon leading up to the season finale. Sure, both of us have seen all of these episodes already, but hey, we love them both and it’s great to see them again…and again…and again…
Andrew grows more attentive now that the last Helix episode for the season comes on. I figure I might as well stay and watch, too, since I don’t really want to miss it and our kids can survive without me for one day (“Pick up the phone, order pizza…do I have to do everything?”). It’s an oddly parallel experience since the show focuses on a deadly virus, medical issues, and all sorts of liquids dripping and panic ensuing, and here’s Andrew hooked up to related equipment, including machine that randomly screeches for the nurse to check.
As we watch the body count rise and literal head roll, I say out loud, “Geez, who’s left to act in next season? Where’d the cast go?” Major Ballesaros is, quite literally, the ball to kick, having been subjected to numerous counts of assault and stabbings (and yes, we know, he deserved it). Dr. Sarah Jordan preggers? Well, that’s pretty unexpected, but not her close encounter with Dr. Farragut. And WTF with Dr. Walker?
Upon its conclusion, it’s really time for me to get going. It’s REALLY late. Andrew’s had quite a day. So have I. Grabbing my jacket and keys, I kiss my husband goodnight and leave him be, as I ponder the fate of Ilaria’s Arctic Biosystems occupants.
By the way, Andrew’s home, and he’s doing just fine.
I’ll be back to writing this blog once again.
Now it’s time for Game of Thrones to begin!
Moon, Stars and Beyond 
Leave a Reply