Thursday morning’s drama left me sleep deprived. Mr Hombre’s brother suggested that I catch a cat nap in the hospital when Mrs. One Eye was resting semi-peacefully (a.k.a snoring louder than a chain saw). I considered the possibility then quickly concluded I didn’t want to wake up sporting a foley with a catch bag clipped to my waistband. Hey, it happened to her…. Little did I know, Brother jinxed all my future attempts at cat napping. Did you know there is a direct correlation between my eyes closing and the phone ringing? Yes, every time.

Telephones scare me. They are couriers of bad news, drama, wrong numbers, and distant family who’s salutation ability is confined to, “who’s this”. Well crap, you called me. Show a little decorum, identify yourself first, then feel free to ask who I am. Looks like my irritability isn’t camouflaged very well.

The surgery was Friday, and went as expected. Mister Hombre’s youngest brother’s family arrived late afternoon and spent the weekend with us. The house has been bustling with activity for the past three days. It has been a pleasure hosting such pleasant house guests, but my head is full and I’m looking forward to a little down time.

I tried to catch a nap on two separate occasions, Friday. Both attempts were foiled by the beloved Mister Hombre calling with dinner plans and hospital updates. Everyone stayed up well past midnight. At 2 AM, sleep was disrupted by a call from the hospital. Mrs. One Eye kept getting out of bed. Yes, the day of her surgery she was getting out of bed and walking. No, she didn’t know where she was. Mister Hombre went to the hospital and remained with her until morning.

I have not retuned to the hospital. I’m undecided whether I will do so. I feel foolish standing in a room with five or six others who talk over and around the patient, pretending things are normal. Often ignoring the patient until she says something like, “I don’t understand why they don’t provide enough chairs for company,” or “They should really bring some coffee and doughnuts”. Just like the Howard Johnson’s only with transfusions and open backed gowns. Thursday was different. She was alone, in pain, and confused. Okay, maybe it really wasn’t that different…