Dinner time in room 42. Robert is feeding himself for the first time. He doesn't really feel hungry, but he's been told to eat protein and vegetables and he's being a good patient.
Robert's having a green salad with grilled chicken on it, which I mention only because the episode of trying to open up the plastic packet of Italian dressing was one of those Laurel and Hardy moments you would think the hospital would have figured out how to avoid. Don't give a disoriented, feeble person a Kevlar-like plastic packet of Italian dressing that leads to frustration, excessive force, and finally an explosion of oil and vinegar all over the bed. It seems like a basic principle of healthcare: don't let the patient get Italian dressing on his surgical dressing.
Today has been a long day of doing breathing exercises, drinking water, being filled up with various fluids through an IV and having other fluids drained off. The nurses and physicians' assistant are happy with what's going on with the routine processes of the human body called Robert.
Meanwhile, the person called Robert has had a pretty chatty day. Here's a selection of some of today's observations and questions so you can get an idea of the mood of the room.
"All in all, I feel much better than I would have expected."
"Is there any black pepper on my dinner tray?"
"The people who move you around overnight seem to have been selected from a pool of former longshoremen."
"Is there anything I can do for you, Bunny? this must be no fun for you."
"Why are they projecting words on the wallpaper? Oh, I guess that must be the Valium."
Now it's 7 pm and we're watching Jeopardy. Robert is simultaneously answering questions about prime ministers of the world correctly and asking me where his glasses are, which are in his hand. I guess that must be the Valium.
Tomorrow: Walking down the hospital hallway. Stay tuned.
No comments:
Post a Comment