After a sleepless Thursday night, Rick decided he needed to go back to the ER for some more pain meds. He really liked the shot of Dopamine (or whatever it was called that made him dopey) and was hoping they'd see fit to give him another blast. So I left work early and drove him there. It was 11:30 AM when we arrived ... and 7:30 PM when I left. Note, when I left. Rick is still there.
Yep, they admitted him. More tests, more interview questions, more meds, more shots. And finally they were able to see what I've seen all along. The man needs help.
The good news is that all of his tests concur ... there's nothing wrong. His hip replacement is sound and his back is doing amazingly well, too. The bad news is that there's nothing wrong. Good news that Rick will not need the surgery he was fearing. Bad news that the pain is caused by his left hip and there's almost nothing that can be done about it. Except pain management.
Pain management is like a stupid term. Oxymoron? Whatever you call it, he's still got pain and he's got to try to manage it.
More good news ... they admitted him. Yes. That's good news only for me, though. I love it when he's in the hospital and getting the care that I can't give him. Bad news? Our lives are turned on end and nothing that needs doing, gets done. Ugh.
Why does Rick always go into the hospital just as we're preparing our taxes? Yeah, good one, Rick.
He'll be in the main hospital for the weekend and then transferred to a skilled nursing home for 20 ish days. As I see it, that's 20+ days for me to actually hold the remote in my hand. 20+ days of single girl living ... and eating. Pizza every night!!!! Whee!
Oh, who am I kidding. I'll be at the hospital every day. I took him dinner just tonight and I see many more dinner deliveries in my immediate future. Unless, of course, a gas station dinner doesn't appeal all that much to Rick. Yep, tonight's faire was a hot dog, two egg rolls, two tacquitos and a bag of Lay's Potato Chips ... from our local QT mini mart.
I'm such a good wife.
And a stressed one, too. Can't you tell?
He's not too stressed, either. Give the man a TV and put a remote in his hand? And all is well.
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