I received an official discharge date for Rick this morning and I was pleased with it. I was afraid Rick would hit the roof, though. He wants out YESTERDAY.
It’s next Wednesday, February 4th. I visited him in the afternoon two days ago and got to see him working out in his PT session. I was pleased at how hard they work him and how hard he was working. Nothing fancy but a lot of leg lifts, etc. He complains that he could do all of it at home, but we all know that he wouldn’t do it. So, I was pleased that he still has another week there.
Now, how to tell him…
He calls me daily, asking if I've heard anything about when he would be freed. So, since I had some news, I sucked it up and called him. I let him know, first, that I actually HAD some news about his discharge. I said, “Wednesday” hoping he wouldn’t realize it was still a week away.
I was hoping he would think it was much closer than it is. But he’s been counting the days, I guess, and he said, “One week from today?” “Yes.” And I thought he’d be mad but I was pleasantly surprised. He was thrilled! That man is so unpredictable.
I guess he thought he was never coming home and that I was leaving him there forever … so Wednesday seemed like a real time that he’d get out. So, all is well. The only thing he doesn’t like is that he figured out he’ll be watching the Super Bowl all by himself. I told him that I can’t come because I’m hosting a SB party at our house that day. Why on earth I volunteered for it, I’ll never know.
SO ... I’ll be stuck at our house ... watching a game I can’t stand ... between two teams I know nothing about ... while Rick, the football connoisseur, will be watching in a hospital ... all alone.
Yeah, I'm a good wife.
I know, I’ll bring him a bag of Fritos. That should make it all better, right?