Going incognito…

June 9, 2011 § Leave a comment

I will admit, I just looked up “incognito” and realized the definition totally doesn’t fit.  But I don’t care.  Because it’s almost midnight, my clothes are still drying, the huzzband is not here, and I really like the way incognito looks and sounds.  So, for that reason, it fits perfectly.

But I’m not really going incognito.  I am disappearing for a bit–again–but for good reason:  the huzzband has had quite a stay in the hospital (a bad infection, minor surgery, and a very painful recovery) and I have been busy tending his every whim.  And for those of you who know what I’m talking about, I’m seriously tired of tending his EVERY whim, if you get my drift.

One note:  nurses don’t get enough credit.  If I hear, “Will you please hand me [insert thingamajig that’s sitting RIGHT NEXT TO HIM]” one more time, our marriage just might come to a crashing halt.  And no, I don’t jest.  Multiply that by X number of patients, and that’s what nurses get to do for 12 hours at a time.  To strange people.  With bedpans.  Who smell like death.

We have been fortunate to have really awesome nurses.  Like, the best nurses on the planet.  And should I ever go into cardiac arrest or something dreadful like that, I am requesting that these nurses tend to my ailing body; they’ve received all my respect.  Since I can’t stay overnight, I feel better knowing I can leave my very grown, very childlike husband alone in the care of these amazing Marys.  And that’s not a euphemism (right word?).  Every nurse we’ve had is named Mary.  With the exception of a Maria.

We are also lucky to be blessed with amazing jobs and understanding bosses, who will work with us while our stay in the hospital has seemed endless.  Since I don’t go to work until 2:00pm and I only stay for a few hours, I’m able to sit by his bedside almost every waking minute.  Not that I do.  I’ve also spent time in Dunkin’s or the hospital cafeteria getting dinner or at the surgical floor’s kitchen scoring some free crackers and tiny sodas.

And I’m grateful that the hospital is located only two streets over from my apartment complex.

With luck, he will return home tomorrow.  It’s too bad Mary can’t accompany him.  I’d love to have a second pair of hands to fetch the non-essential items–like blankets and extra pillows, and the general stuff that makes having a complicated infection more comfortable.  And the two free pepsis I had earlier has helped give me an extra surge of energy to tackle the laundry, kitchen, and bathroom.  Because God forbid the husband come home only to get a second infection because the house has gone to ruins in his absence.

I have to say, sickness is awful, especially to the one you love the most.  It’s depressing watching them suffer, knowing you can’t do anything about it, but wanting to smack those idiotic doctors in those smug faces of theirs.  Which is why when I yelled at one today, I felt a lot better.  I seem to have very little energy left, and I’m not sure how much longer I would be able to take him being in the hospital, but it shouldn’t be too much longer.

However, until he is back in fine form, I shall be going incognito–so to speak. Which is sad, because I have pretty good blog drafts already formed.  But they shall wait.

On a side note, my cousin and I have “launched” an awesome new website (blog) on the trials and tribulations of being childless, married, women of faith, and how we face what the Everyday throws at us.  I have to say, though we only have one posting so far (more to come!) it’s pretty awesome.  So be sure to check it out and share your own opinions, no matter how trivial, and start adding to the not-yet-formed discussions we hope will come into fruition.

And because I just used the word “fruition” I’m going to fold my laundry to Arrested Development and hope that sleep will take over and give me the strength I need for tomorrow.

Look at that cute face!
Now picture those dashing good looks wrapped up in a hospital
johnny and sterile, stained blankets laying pitifully on an reclining bed.
Not a pretty picture, I tell ya.


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