Breaking out of Hospice House
Hubby’s playful spirit is still in evidence through the shutting down of his body. He ordered French toast for breakfast. Drenched in syrup, he said.
The attendant leaned in close to confirm that she had heard him correctly. Drenched?
How about just drizzled in syrup, said his wife.
We’ll see when it gets here, countered the patient. You can see who won that battle.
It appears Hubby may be breaking out of Hospice House this afternoon. He’s been outfitted with a morphine pump and I’ve been given instructions for round-the-clock flushing of the one remaining nephrostomy tube.
And this after he’s trained all the night nurses. Ten—count them—ten pillows on Hubby’s bed when I woke up this morning. He makes requests; the nurses run and fetch. (Not sure this will continue once we get the patient home.)
Meanwhile, I’ve gotten to be the wife here with Hubby. Almost a full night’s sleep on the sofa. Ducks beating Stanford. These lovely living spaces. This autumn beauty. This peace.