Hospital Math

It looks like my 7-10 day hospital stay will end today. I think that would be 20 days, but I’m a bit fuzzy on some of them what with the fever and all.

I’m free of staples, but covered in steristrips. (Does steristrip glue smell like fir trees or spruce trees?) I’m taking my festoon of drains home with me, even the best beloved butt drain.

I will wear shoes for the first time in three weeks, and a garment that covers my butt. I will not be woken every two hours by a nurse who needs to record a vital sign, or feed me a pill. (As I’ve become healthier, the nurses have backed off, favoring sleep over exact documentation, but it’s still not restful.)

I’ll get to see Nick, and the boxer, and the velociraptors, the latter three under careful supervision. A boxer to the gut would put me right back in the hospital.

I’m taking with me a cocktail of bacteria (the preliminary culture said “a mixture of species of aerobic and anaerobic bacteria,” which covers all the bases at least).

Interlude: Attending strides in, followed by a pair of residents. “Are you ready to go home?” I reply in the affirmative. “Have you been eating?” I reply in the affirmative. “Well then let’s get you out of here.” Exeunt doctors.

I’ll be taking with me the antibiotics to deal with whateveritis I’m infected with. I don’t know yet if those will be IV or oral. (Infectious Diseases says they will be here “later.”)

I’ll be taking pain pills with me too, oh my yes! Three drains, an enormous line of staples, and all the internal healing bits? Drugs are my friend.

So now we’re waiting, on discharge instructions, prescriptions, Infectious Diseases. If they take too exceedingly long, we’ll check out and stay at a motel tonight, as driving home in the rainy night sounds unappealing (no, I’m not driving). But if we can, home tonight!

One thing I’m not taking home with me? The Wursts!