movin', movin', movin', keep those doggies movin'

When I started to type this it was going to be about how M is moving around more, how he took a shower all by himself and shaved, and then walked with me off the floor to get my lunch. 

BUT ... now it may be more about how he just informed me that they may move up his discharge time from Tuesday midday (standard across the hospital) to  .... TONIGHT! 

This is both cause for amazing excitement and a likewise great deal of "oh-shit" panic!  Because I'm not ready!!  Really!  I planned on schlepping my shit that's piled up at the hospital back to the hotel tonight, and some of his less-needed crap, and then bringing him a bag of real-people clothes in the early morning for go-time.  Well, shit. I don't have any of that stuff here now!  And he is soooooo not heading out into the still snowing Cleveland night in his PJ bottoms, CC gown, robe and slippers. I may not have learned it all, or excelled so far in my caretaking, but I'm pretty damn sure none of that is on the approved list of discharge items or to-do's.  And since he can't even lift a milk jug, I'm his personal Sherpa. And I'm not sure which is heavier, my damn laptop & laptop backpack, or a block of cement -- so add that to his laptop, the snack and entertainment bag, the iPod stereo speakers, assorted CC take-away items, papers, drugs, food, cards. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiieeeeee.  And yet, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! 

Ok, they're here to stick him again, and the nurse is being hysterical -- they're talking about the 'controlled violence'  or 'extreme torture' that is heart surgery and its aftermath. Things like "oh sure, let's cut you open, break your bones and then ask you to breathe deeply", and "we pump you full of drugs, then more drugs to balance those drugs -- drugs that stop you up and then different drugs to blow you out, I mean really blow you out!!" 


ok ... gotta run ... I gotta go get the boy some pants and umm ... the other kind of pants too. ;-)

Peace
J