The poor darling Fred. As there is so much, these particular days, that I cannot actually do, my many annoying lists of choses à faire are delivered with the Royal "We." As in: It would be great if we could get the kitchen windows washed before they actually become opaque. Or -- Tante Nancy is visiting next week... maybe we can sweep the leaves off the deck before she arrives? Poor guy.
If yesterday was Tuesday, it must have been Infectious Disease visit day! My favorite PA was back from her extended vacation. (We call her Susan because that is her name.) Actually, I believe she was not entirely back -- it was a rather vague encounter. I never know what to do when I know something that the medico ought to know -- should I speak up, drop a hint, or remain silent? She was totally horrified that "no labs have been done," which was, of course, a ridiculous thing to think. Every Wednesday when we go back to the office to pick up the medicine balls of antibiotics for the coming week, we also get a copy of our labs, from which I forward abnormal results to Dr. Boutiqueur. I gave Susan her 15 minutes to run around consulting her colleagues, then pretended surprise when she rushed over and pointed out the "critical values" from last week. One of the nurses smiled at me from over her shoulder. So Susan saved the day and simultaneously sort of slid back into the rhythm of things. Right on cue, she was spouting the party line: high WBC, high sed rate, way high CRP, etcetera -- That advice I gave you? About relaxing and putting further surgery out of your mind? Well, the need for another shoulder operation may arise more quickly than I'd anticipated...
They love Fred in the Infusion Center. He cracks me up! We get to the waiting room and he practically salivates with pleasure, with anticipation. When the nurse comes to take me back to an exam room, he always says: "Why don't I go back and wait for you in the Infusion Center?" Eager as a puppy.
See... it is all about The Chair.
To be specific (and we should all be specific) Champion Healthcare Seating Products designed the recliner of his dreams, the 59 Series Relax Recliner, in stunning Ice Mint. There are 6 of them in the Infusion Room. He always picks the one to the left -- as you go in -- next to the window.
When I am done with the exam and consult part of the visit, I head for the Infusion Room, chuckling already. Every time, there is Fred, head back, feet up in the air, paperback novel on his lap, snoring to beat the proverbial band. At that, I cannot help myself, and bust my proverbial gut in outright laughter. The nurses all put their indexes to pursed lips, practically glaring at me, the unappreciative woman who has obviously abused her good natured, ever helpful life partner -- this poor, worn out man!
This poor, worn out man is going to be seriously depressed and deprived when my 6 weeks of i.v. treatment are over. Me? I haven't had the pleasure of conking out in the 59 Series Relax Recliner in Ice Mint. I wheel around, knocking bedside trays into bizarre configurations, running over toes.
Periodically, he half-wakes, stretches like the aforementioned puppy (with a little pot belly in this iteration) and graces us all with the sweetest smile before falling asleep again. Meanwhile, I am usually getting stuck, since my PICC line loves to be flushed but hates to give up any blood. He always misses the 15 minutes during which my right arm is extended and rotated in an ungodly position so that the dressing can be changed. He wonders aloud sometimes what could possibly have caused the pain that I bitch about on the ride home. I tell myself that next Tuesday, I will fill a bowl with warm water and minister to the tips of his fingers as he sleeps.
That being a "medical" chair and all, it cleans up easily.
Ar!
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