Got home the day before yesterday from an educational week in the hospital. During the surgery the doc discovered that my bladder had attached itself to my abdominal wall, probably from the gut surgery 12 years ago. He said if that hadn't been there he would have been done about
45 minutes earlier. Requested a private room but wound up rooming with a 27 year old d***head who was only there to get the morphine. Eventually security got involved and they booted him. In the meantime, my bowel did not want to wake up so 1 tube up the rear to stir the soup, NG tube down the nose and throat to get all the acids and nothing but ice chips until Monday when they finally pulled the tubes and gave me...yep...delicious broth. Finally told them on Tuesday that I was well supplied at home to continue the soft diet and that I was leaving. They balked at that until I convinced them that I knew what the hell I was talking about
, that I had researched this for some time, knew what to expect, and that once again, I was leaving. Someone from administration came in and wanted to discuss this. No discussion necessary. Sat her down and had a 10 minute "chat" with her, outlining the facts of my stay(she said they may need me as a witness if they decide to prosecute the roomie) and explained that,once again, I was leaving.Whew. The doctor came in, gave me the once-over, and said "Let this poor S.O.B. go. He knows what he's doing." Thanks, doc. The story has a lot more highlights and shenanigans, but won't go into them right now. Nurses were great and they were pretty much in tune as to what I was up to.
See the doc next Monday for cath removal and then on from there. Had scrambled eggs, blueberry muffin, applesauce, and crisp bacon for breakfast and I can tell you, it's much better than broth. I don't think I'll be having that again for awhile. So it's off to the treadmill and some light work around the house. Glad to be back. On a parting note, I know the name and address of the 27 year old junkie, so tonight he will be getting pizza deliveries, and in the future, magazine subscriptions, love notes to his wife(she was as bad as he was), penile extension information, service calls from pest exterminators, a phone call from the FAA concerning his application to be an air traffic controller, and a phone call from someone named Vigo who says he owes him money. He monkeyed with the wrong monkey.
All the best...and, life is good!
Bob 