Friday was a long day, exhausting, but a really good ending to the hospital/surgery part of things. We fueled up for the trip with a yummy breakfast, got Charlie settled in the car, making sure everything he might need was within reach, and set the GPS for Greenville. We obeyed doctor's orders to stop every 45 minutes so he could walk around, thus doing our part to avoid any blood clot formation in his legs. We were able to find some quiet, more-or-less abandoned parking lots for our short strolls, and the trip went without a hitch. We were definitely grateful for a smooth ride and good drugs.
I think we're starting to figure out our routine as far as dosing and keeping track of medications, catheter and wound care, and easy-to-digest meals. I ended up writing everything down; I don't want to entrust giving meds to a memory with the holding power of a sieve. So far, so good.
You might get a chuckle out of a few of the comments I've overheard Charlie say this week. He was so frustrated by his drugged state when Patrick came by the hospital room on Wednesday morning. He walked into the room, and Charlie knew he knew him, but that's as far as his mind would go at the moment. He said, "I know who you are, but I have no idea what your name is." Another remark was made this afternoon on the phone to a friend who has also recently had a lifesaving medical procedure. "How many staples did you get? I have 30."
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