Friday-Saturday

I decided to cover these in one bound because half of it is lost in a medicated haze and the other half is full of painful details no one wants to be debreifed on too much. My days at the hospital began early, because for a place that is full of healing, they certainly start processing you ridiculously early. A nurse comes to suck your blood at 5:30-6:00, and after that nurses come in frequently to take your blood pressure, temperature, and such sundry vital signs. At seven, the doctors come to either change you dressing or hospitably (get it?!) talk to you or warn you of incoming therapists. After that, the friendly guy who gives you meals comes to bring you breakfast and to give you options for the rest of the day. No really, I love that guy. He's amazing.
After that come the physical therapists. Though they seem nice, they have a heart of steel behind those helpful demeanors. My first therapist even made me pass out! Just kidding, Rusty, that was my fault. My fault that I have ridiculously low blood pressure. Physical therapy is hard, though. You wouldn't think that moving your leg ahead 2 inches would be that difficult! But it is. The bathroom was probably the biggest accomplishment. You have to move all the way there, do your buisness, then all the way back. Exhausting!
For the rest of the day, it is a blur of visitors, vital signs, more visitors, television, pain meds, vital signs, and food. My apologies for two of my visitors: Suzanne and Jonathan, for almost vomiting on them. I really wasn't good that day, I'm sorry.
There were up moments, and there were truly rotten moments, but I managed to get through to Sunday! Why six in the morning? That's just what I don't get.