Supper was served. It was a loverly meatloaf. I was heartened to see it was made in individual loaf shapes. It was topped with a tomato based sauce. I tasted it. The topping was very VERY sweet. So I scraped that off.
As I had a BLT earlier I was’nt very hungry. I picked around and ate alittle. For fear of starving tomorrow.
Nurse Rachet came in and looked at my tray. She looked at me over her reading glasses. She started a little lecture about how “I must eat and It’s good for me” nag, nag, nag!!
When she stopped talking I sez: “Okay, Mom”
She stomped out in a huff. Oops.
I have been moved to another floor of the hospital. This is the rehab floor. (3rd)
I’ve met a new therapist. I’ve tentatively named him ‘Bubba’, He knows Hilda.
This guy was really nice. He wanted to know my goals and my worries about returning home. Refreshing!
I’m expected to care for myself on this floor. It’s a step-down unit. Less nursing care. Yay!!
I’ve been to the MRI suite again. If they keep up I’m gonna start glowing neon green. My pee is bright orange as it is (caused from meds)
The surgeon visited. As soon as my infection settles down I’ll get to go home. He removed my pain pump (:()
My incision is looking good, he says.
The food isn’t any better here.
The lil’wrekker is coming in this afternoon to bring my insulin. I told her to snag me some tacos. And I need some cash if I’m to get to the coffee shop again.
I’m gonna explore this place after my snack. I gotta see what’s making all the noise I keep hearing.
Of course, I’ve been read the riot act about self isolating, handwashing and mask wearing. Hush, people. This is right in my wheelhouse.
I carry hand sanitizer and I’m not afraid to use it.
Sorry about the loss of your best friend, the PCA. But you apparently still have nooks and crannies where infection might lurk. Should you encounter PAIN that the oral meds don’t touch, it would mean the bad guys are gaining on you.
Pancho may have been evicted, but he apparently left a few soldiers behind to stir up trouble. Hopefully, this course of antibiotics will rout all those bastards out, and shoot them by firing squad.
You need protein to heal. If they continue to feed you slaughterhouse floor sweepings and pond scum, you gotta scoop up protein from the Snack Bar and the vending machines. Think peanuts and maybe boiled eggs. (gag)
Tell the DIL or Lil Wrekker to bring you the tuna pouches. 17 grams of protein per pouch!
passes hat to take up collection for carnivorousplant’s helicopter
We’ll do what we can to get you out of CrazyTown!
~VOW
I got a ‘banana bag’ IV. Hmmm? I guess it’s nutrients and stuff.
I certainly hope it doesn’t mess with my glucose.
I’ve googled it. It seems they give it to alcoholics.
:smack:
>>>>beck’s gone wild, spring break on the 3rd floor <<<<
I roamed the corridors looking for trouble to get into.
Holy crap this place is loud. The PA system gives a warning every 10 min about handwashing. There are people pushing carts and wagon things up and down the hall. It’s a veritable obstacle course to navigate. No blue line on this floor.
There’s a vending machine area. No food only drinks.
I found the elevator. There’s a bench there so I sat and watched if people used it. People go in and down. No one comes up. Concerning.
There’s a dayroom but it’s off limits. I’m assuming it’s for the social distancing thing. It’s very small.
The nurses station has one Nurse that I saw. She was reading. And eating cheetos.
(Man, I want cheetos).
One inmate asked me where his daughter was. I told him, “she’s coming soon”
That seemed to calm him down. (:))
God, I hope she does.
Earlier the lil’wrekker got in with Tacos and Insulin and 4 newspapers. Yay! So I’m fed tonight. (The supper tray was a fake hamburger. The tomato was edible, just!!)
She gave me a full report on goings on at the house. Seems the Big Wrek is still buying food. That man!! Mid-daughter is ‘keeping calm and feeding pets’
No hugs from my baby. I got air kisses thru her mask and mine. And…we sanitized, thoroughly. I told her go home and stay put.
She promised.
Tacos, insulin and newspapers: the perfect trifecta!
Mr Wrekker is still hauling around a mass of anxiety. As long as he doesn’t take out a second mortgage to pay for his shopping sprees, let him go. After this is finally in the rear-view mirror of humanity, perhaps you can make a donation to the nearest Ronald McDonald house. They appreciate anything.
~VOW
