Well, here we are still in the hospital, instead of on our way to rehab. The doctors do not like how high Robert's blood sugar is and they do not like how low his platelet count is. Both the tests and the treatments involve fluids going in or fluids coming out. Between all that inflow and outflow and the gobs of hand sanitizer everyone uses all the time, we could float away.
Robert is markedly better today at manuevering himself in and out of bed. He can do both without assistance now, though it does take him a long time and he's leaning on a walker. And it helps if someone is coaching him about what to do next. But just yesterday he couldn't put both hands behind his head at the same time, so it's clear he's getting better day by day.
I wish I had more exciting news -- like that Robert had started his road trip towards rehab -- but instead it's another day of listening to other people's televisions, cell phones, and video games-- while staying close to Robert's bedside where he can hold my arm. Or if I'm blogging, he likes to hold onto my bare foot.
One of the painkillers that Robert was taking made him hallucinate, and even though they stopped that one, he's still seeing cats up on the ceiling. This morning he said to me, "Does that pen on the table look like a doctor in a lab coat to you?"
I said, "No, actually, it looks like a Magic Marker."
He said, "Well, yeah, that's what I mean, a Magic Marker in a lab coat."
Of course, despite all the minor setbacks and the cats floating on the ceiling, there is an enormous amount to be grateful for here. The bed that goes up and down is a minor miracle. The hospital gives me free coffee. The blue jonny coat looks nice with Robert's eyes.
I hope this narrative can take a more exciting turn tomorrow and I can reveal to the reader that our hero is indeed off to rehab. Otherwise, I may have to resort to writing haiku about Robert's platelets just to keep things fresh.
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