On the fifth day of my husband's hospital confinement, he was released to my care. The only reason his stay was extended a day longer than normal is because they didn't get around to walking him on his fourth day. And I have no idea whose fault that was either.
Getting from his room to the exit was a bit humorous in a way. The transport person had a conflicting appointment (so she said) and zipped him through the halls to the pharmacy as if he was a blur.
Bringing up the rear was me: carrying a normally heavy handbag, a suit bag with his Western boots, jeans and belt inside that seemed to weigh 20 pounds, and a plastic bag with all the goodies from the hospital. His parting gifts, as it were.
I didn't complain because I thought that's just the way they do it these days. Everybody's in a rush, so the hospital staff must be too. When I finally caught up with them in the pharmacy, the transporter left us. And it was now my chore to get him down the oh so very long hall to the exit doors, along with everything else that I was carrying. Or trying to carry.
What we didn't know is that the transporter called one of my husband's nurses and she was waiting for us outside the pharmacy with another nurse. I don't have to tell you that she was very ticked off and she told us she reported the transporter. She said that is her job and each patient is to be treated with respect until you get them to where you are told to get them. In our case it was the exit doors of the hospital, not the pharmacy.
Another thing that puzzled me is that we had no help getting my husband into the truck. Other than the nurse, who did a bang up job of getting him all the way up onto his seat. It wasn't easy, but I wish I had a video camera. He insisted I pick him up in the truck and not the Mustang, but this is one time I should have listened to my head instead of him.
The ride home was quiet and uneventful. Until we got into our driveway. Now it was up to me to get him out of the truck and into the house. Somehow, with the help of a walker, we managed to get him inside and settled in his recliner.
He is getting in-home therapy and Tuesday his staples came out. More to follow on that.
5 comments:
I am glad that Hubster is doing well. As far as wanting the truck, it's a "man" thing. We have to be brought home in a manly way with "our" walker. LOL LOL LOL
glad he is home, and hope he recovers well.
Getting him home sounds like an adventure in itself. Keep us posted on how he is doing.
Ralph
I can relate to your adventure. When my hubby had his hip replaced in Manhattan, his parents drove in and me too to help me get him. getting into and out of the car was quite an adventure. There was no nurse to help with the getting into process, an dthank goodness that I used to do PT with folks at my job, so, it came into play. Glad that you hubby is on the road to recovery, and that you have him home to do it! keep us posted!
Hi Cheyenne, you can tell my blogging has hit a null. So I did read Monday's but it seems I didn't leave a comment. I am sorry about that.
Also I'm glad your husband got his needed surgery after the long wait. My knee doc said just give him the word when my pain was too bad and he would do a replacement.
But I am sorry they treated you so badly at the hospital. Our local hospital here has gone down hill a lot. Mrs. Jims mother had good and bad treatment, but worse in the nursing home, and terrible by the local hospice people.
I hope you guys had a nice neighbor to help egress from the truck.
I will check in the morning to see what you think of the race today and your version of how Jr. fared.
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