It was only 27 1/2 hours. But it seemed a lot longer. From the time we walked in the front doors of the hospital to the time we walked out again, it felt as though the world had stopped. Hospitals are like that. Nothing seems to matter except what’s going on inside.
Even the short periods of time I spent at home were surreal. Things just seemed, well, different. Even the dog knew. She is devoted to Rich, and kept looking around for him. I wasn’t good enough for her. She wanted Rich. And she let me know it by whining incessantly at bedtime. And beyond.
We were both very grateful that they decided to keep Rich in the hospital overnight. Going home the same day as his surgery sounded like a great thing. Sleeping in his own bed, a quiet, familiar environment and no hospital stay. But seeing him hooked up to fluids with the nursing staff constantly checking his vitals, and professionals doling out advice or reassurance was a blessing. The extra care and attention before we were on our own gave us an extra measure of confidence as Rich walked out the door.
It feels good to have all that behind us now. Rich is thrilled to be showered and dressed. He’s relaxing on the couch, not a hospital bed. And he even sneaked a Diet Coke.
We’re glad Rich is home again. And the dog is happy too.