If I look straight ahead from my hospital bed, here's what I see - an analog clock with a sweeping red second hand above an analog calendar.I find that I only worry about the hands of the clock twice during the day: before Dr. Forman makes his rounds at 7:30 am and when it's time for Martha at 10 am. Today, the hours flew by with a long Atavan-induced nap, a new PICC line insertion, a visit from a nutritionist and social worker, several pole dancing episodes, a brief visit from Cindy (who came here by bus because George is in SF), reading, writing and talking on the phone.
But it's the nights when the seconds seem like minutes and the minutes like hours. My sleep comes in 15-minute intervals until I'm woken up by a beeping IV, a nurse taking blood or vitals, a nurse changing chemo bags or a bladder that needs emptying. But before I know it, the minutes have turned to hours and the 18 on the calendar mysteriously beomes a 19.
2 comments:
When I was last in the hospital, it occurred to me that hospitals aren't designed for comfortable nights of sleep. For the night shift staff, the night is day with lots of work to do, it's always fluorescent high noon in the corridors, the nurses and techs have to talk shop and, being normal sociable people, of course they also have to chat -- right outside your door! Not a recipe for baby-slumber by the "guests".
Wishing you sweet dreams when you return home!
Love,
Mrs. Duck
Thank God for Martha...the only woman who could make me excited to iron a man's shirt! Love you, Darling Susan...Suze
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